


libera nos a malo

by la_topolina



Series: The Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Tetralogy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Fluff, Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Ilvermorny, Past Domestic Violence, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape-centric, Sexual Content, Swearing, Trust Issues, Werewolf Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_topolina/pseuds/la_topolina
Summary: A Comedy of Errors about an Unstoppable Force meeting an Immovable ObjectSeverus has found his perfect (if occasionally infuriating) match--but his dangerous double life may kill them both.Half Blood Prince. Book two of four.A sequel toMoonlight+
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Tetralogy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745839
Comments: 25
Kudos: 55





	1. Strings

He wasn’t fast enough.

The curse caught him square in the chest, sending him head over heels and smashing him into the pock-marked stone wall. By the time he hit the floor, his wand had been snatched from his hand and his opponent was astride him, the tip of her wand tilting his chin up that he might better see her triumphant grin.

“Had enough?” Miranda purred, her gray eyes sparkling over him.

“Not nearly,” Severus growled back. “But _you_ have.”

“I don’t know.” She playfully twirled her wand between her fingers, considering. “You won the last round and I won this one. Why don’t we say best two out of three?”

He put one long finger on the end of her wand and deliberately pushed it away from his throat. “Healer A’isha ordered you to limit yourself to one duel per day until your next appointment. We’ve already had two. It’s enough.”

“Spoilsport,” she murmured, rolling smoothly to her feet and tossing his wand back to him.

He caught it and got to his feet while she started her tedious routine of post-duel stretches. The simple dueling platform and the opposing banners emblazoned with the Slytherin and Thunderbird crests vanished, leaving a narrow, waist-high table behind. With an audible groan, Miranda climbed onto the table, lifting her arm for Severus to manipulate according to the Healer’s stern specifications.

“I’m still not sure which is worse; the physical exercises or the magical ones,” she grumbled, wincing as he held her arm in place a few seconds longer than the day pervious.

“Your spellwork seemed marginally less pedantic tonight,” he said, the encouragement clumsy in his mouth.

“How nice of you to say so.”

“Healer A’isha did order me to bolster your precarious spirits with regular doses of praise,” he said wryly, leaning on her leg until she stifled a groan. Healer A’isha had also warned him that he would come to hate these exercises more than Miranda did herself. It was one thing to endure pain—and yet another to inflict it on the person whose well-being was unfortunately bound up with one’s own sentimental affections.

“I was thinking I would move back to the cabin this weekend,” she said casually when he released the stretch.

“Were you?” Why was it that no matter how many times one rehearsed receiving disappointing news, it never dulled the pain when the blow actually fell?

“Yes.” She sucked in her breath as he leaned on her other leg.

“All the better for you to neglect your recovery.”

“With you and Rachel dogging me, how could I dare? Aaron’s going to help me move.”

“I see.” He released her leg and offered her a hand to help her sit up. It was shameful how pleased he was when she actually took it; he was like a dog slavering after its master for affection.

Part of the floor sunk away, melting into a clear blue pool of steaming water, and Miranda used her wand to painstakingly transfigure her clothing into a trim bathing suit. Spells that were once instantaneous now required her strictest attention and labor, but the fact that she was able to perform them at all was enough to hope that she would, in time, recover her powers completely. He stooped to pull off her boots—vanished footwear was so notoriously difficult to retrieve from nonbeing that it was rarely worth the risk of sending it thither. She gave a deep sigh as she slid into the water, and she laid her head back on the tiled floor, letting her eyes close and her arms drift.

“You can come in if you like,” she suggested without opening her eyes.

“I think not. You would only distract me from completing your exercises.” A chair materialized on the opposite side of the pool, and he settled himself into it. “Tell me when you are ready.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He was. “Of course not. Why would I be angry?”

“I wouldn’t have asked Aaron for help, but I didn’t want to impose on you any more than I already have.”

“You haven’t been imposing.” Although what else he wished to call her extended sojourn in his rooms he refused to admit.

She opened one eye and smiled at him. “Yes I have, don’t lie to me. But feel free to join in the fun. Rachel and Maggie are coming along to make dinner.”

“I fail to see how a baby would be of any use at making dinner.”

“Rachel can do anything with Maggie strapped to her back. Aaron says it’s a sight to behold.” She lifted her head off the tile and raised one hand out of the water, wordlessly summoning her wand. “I’m ready now.”

Severus conjured a golden ball the size of an orange and sent it spinning towards Miranda with a smooth wandstroke. She watched it, her brow furrowed in concentration. The ball flew towards her, unchecked until it was less than an arms-length away from her nose, when she managed to wordlessly send it back towards him. He lazily batted it with his magic, and this time she used hers to catch it in mid-air and stretch it into a length of rope, which she dropped into the water. With a flick of his wand, the rope shot out of the pool, transfigured now into a fish that splashed back under the water and swam towards Miranda, tickling her toes. She laughed and drew her wand through the air, causing the water to surge out of the pool and toss the fish up with it. Before it could land back in the water, she waved her wand again, and the fish transformed into a mangled half-avian, half-ichthyoid horror. It hit the tile next to the pool and flopped helplessly, until Severus waved his hand to vanish the mess.

“Well, that was better than yesterday,” Miranda said half-heartedly.

“It was. Most of the fish-bird’s organs were on the inside today rather than haphazardly arranged on its scales,” Severus remarked.

“I guess that’s true.”

Her frustration was palpable, and he went around the pool to sit on the cushion that appeared on the tile at her side. While his attempts at verbal encouragement tended to be as mangled as some of her recent transfiguration attempts, he had discovered that a well timed kiss served just as well, if not better. Her lips were a firm line of irritation when he captured them, but they quickly softened under his patient insistence, and when he pulled away to draw breath, she was smiling.

“So, will you come?” she asked.

Disappointment cut through the fog of tenderness that had gathered in his chest, but though he felt his jaw clench at the idea of her leaving, he heard himself saying, “It would seem there is nothing left for me to do but acquiesce.”

She caught his face between her warm, wet hands, and drew him down for another lingering kiss that fed both his anger and his _tendre_ for her.

“Don’t be cross, Severus. I know we’ve both been looking forward to finally being on the same island at the same time, but we’ll drive each other crazy if we keep living in the same two rooms together. I really am so grateful to you for everything you’ve done, and I don’t know how I’m going to repay you, but…”

“That’s quite enough,” he interrupted. He did not care to listen to her thanks. “Will Saturday serve the purpose?”

“Saturday’s perfect. I’ll write to Aaron tonight and let him know.”

He helped her out of the water and hovered near her elbow while she arduously cast a drying charm on herself, and transfigured her bathing suit back into her trousers and tunic. She gave a jaw-splitting yawn when she finished and sat down on the table, allowing him to put her socks and boots back on her feet for the trek down to the dungeon. As usual, he exited the Room of Requirement first and, finding the hall empty, he rapped on the wall and started down to the dungeon. He was entering the stairwell when he heard Horace Slughorn’s voice in the hallway behind him.

“Why if it isn’t Miranda Rose!” Horace said pleasantly.

“Hello Horace,” Miranda replied in a bright, but weary tone. “Fancy finding you here. Are you visiting?”

“No, I’ve come out of retirement, I’m sorry to say. But someone has to teach these youngsters Potions, and Albus Dumbledore is a difficult man to say no to. To what do I owe the happy accident of seeing you this evening?”

“Albus Dumbledore, who else?”

“Who else indeed. Then you must know what I am talking about. Come into my office and have a nightcap with me. I can’t tell you how serendipitous this is! I was about to owl you with regards to a project…”

The door closed, shutting off the rest of Horace’s monologue. Severus briefly considered eavesdropping, but decided it wasn’t worth the bother. He had plenty of work waiting for him in his own office, and Miranda would likely tell him anything interesting that the crafty potions master said.

Or she wouldn’t. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

*****

“And it ended with me having to accept an invitation to his Christmas party,” Miranda said, suppressing a grunt as she flicked her wand at a book-filled crate. It crashed into the floor harder than she meant it to, but she kept the wand flicks coming lest Severus notice her tiring and order her to take a break. The books leapt jerkily out of the crate and floated to the shelves, lining up like weary soldiers returning home.

“Did you?” Aaron replied as he attempted to wrestle her turntable back into its desk drawer. “Woman, how did you get this blessed thing in here in the first place?”

“You have to talk nice to it.”

“I s’pose.” He swore under his breath as yet another corner refused to fit. “But a party’s not so bad. And I’ve heard Horace Slughorn knows how to throw ‘em.”

“I’ve heard that too; but a student party full of hormonal teenagers? What am I supposed to do, wilt along the wall with the chaperones?”

“Are you still complaining about Horace’s party?” Severus asked irritably, emerging from the newly cleaned potions closet. “I had thought you would not have minded keeping me company there.”

“I wouldn’t mind if I was allowed to act as though I knew you, especially considering how hard it is to get you to go out at all. But at least when we go to Prospero’s, you hold my hand.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever held your hand,” he muttered, gathering the crate of her prescribed potions.

“A convenient lapse of memory.”

She didn’t hear whatever he shot back at her, as he covered his grumbling with returning to the potions closet and spending an inordinately long time unpacking and arranging it.

“Do you ever give that man a break?” Rachel chided from the stove where she was busily sautéing a rainbow of vegetables while Maggie tugged on her sleek black ponytail.

“If he can dish it, he can take it,” Miranda retorted, starting on another crate. “How are things at the Embassy?”

“Busy,” Aaron replied, “and complicated. Scrimgeour’s discouraging anyone from coming into or leaving the country. He’s trying to play it off like he’s got the whole Voldemort situation under control, and I do believe that he doesn’t want to look a fool by having all the foreigners high tailing it home. But I also think he’s scared shitless that if he keeps the borders open, he’s going to have a mess of Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathizers coming in to play. So he hasn’t exactly shut them down, but they ain’t exactly open either.”

“What does Robert think about that?”

“He’ll play along if he gets what he wants out of it. Take that you demon-spawn!” Aaron whooped, slapping the turntable as it finally snapped into place.

“What _does_ he want?”

Aaron started flipping through Miranda’s records in search of some appropriate victory music.

“For now what he wants is permission to run his own Aurors to protect the Americans in the country.”

“ _Really_? That’s never happened before. And Scrimgeour allowed it?”

“He did. And Robert’s champing at the bit to get ahold of you. I reckon he wants you on the team.”

The book that Miranda was directing onto the shelf clattered to the floor, and she groaned inwardly as she recast the charm to send it back to its place.

“That’s flattering. I don’t know that I want to be an Auror, but I would at least consider it.”

“Not at the current moment,” Severus snapped, returning to the room to glare at her. “And I believe that it is time for you to sit down.”

“I will when I finish this crate.” His glare darkened and she protested, “I’m fine! I can finish a crate, it won’t kill me.”

“Your left shoulder is high,” he said in that quiet, angry tone of his.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your left shoulder. It rides high when you are tired and forcing your magic. It’s your tell.”

She grinned in spite of herself. “I didn’t realize you knew about tells.”

“One of the few useful things my father bothered himself to teach me.”

The set of his jaw told her that arguing the point would be neither useful nor entertaining and—to her chagrin—he was right; she _was_ forcing her magic. She threw up her hands in defeat and said, “Fine, you win. I’ll hold the baby.”

He continued to watch her sternly until she had liberated Maggie from the flower-patterned baby-carrier on Rachel’s back and was settled on the new leather sofa in front of the fire as if he expected her to covertly thwart his orders the instant he looked away. She sank into the comfortable cushions and contented herself with bouncing the fine, plump child and replying to her happy babbling as though it were intelligible conversation. The old sofa had gotten lost somewhere in the shuffle of chaos at St. Mungo’s, and the Lees had insisted on replacing it. Miranda had attempted to decline the generosity at first, but she had to admit that her friends had a talent for selecting furniture that was as functional as it was beautiful.

She was glad when Severus finally took over her unpacking and ceased to watch her with his piercing eyes. She doubted that her friends had noticed it, but the sorrow flickering in those inky depths was all too apparent to her.

*****

After the ramen had been eaten, the tea all drunk, and the baby nursed, the Lees were making ready to leave in a flurry of cloaks, scarves, and mittens.

“When’s your next appointment?” Rachel asked while she deftly wrapped the sleeping baby on her chest and settled her cloak snugly around them both.

“Monday morning,” Miranda replied. “If it goes well, I won’t have to go back until after Christmas.”

“Come by after you’re done. We can have lunch.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll see you then.”

She kissed her friends’ cheeks and waved them away. Severus kept to the background, still arranging books and bottles on their shelves; but he did trouble himself to return Rachel’s good-bye and shake Aaron’s hand. The Lees turned back to wave when they reached the end of the lane before disappearing with a loud pop. Miranda closed the door after them, and was surprised to see Severus shrugging into his cloak.

“Oh, were you going home?” she asked, trying to keep the disappointment she felt from showing.

His brow furrowed, but his eyes were blank. “I…had thought so.”

She smiled quickly and reassured him, “Of course. You must be dying to have some peace and quiet.”

He ran a long finger lightly over her cheekbone and jawline. The contrast of the roughness of his calloused finger and the gentleness of the touch made her shiver.

“I can stay if you would prefer it,” he offered quietly.

“No,” she said, a little too quickly. “I’ll be fine. I can’t wait to have a few minutes to myself.”

“As you like.” He withdrew his hand and reached for the doorknob, but not before she saw that flash of sorrow again.

Guilt prompted her to put her hand over his and soften the blow. “You know, I doubt I’ll feel much like cooking dinner tomorrow, after being spoiled by the house elves and Rachel for the last six weeks. There’s a little pub in Shoreditch that serves our kind. The Queen Mab, say eight o’clock?”

He smiled wryly at her and he kissed her brow before replying, “That would be agreeable. I shall have time to finish my Koestler while I wait for you.”

“I’ll be early, just to spite you.”

“I suppose there is a first time for everything. Until then.”

He left before the silence that fell between them could turn awkward, and disappeared at the end of the lane without looking back. She shut the door and wished that she could shut out the confusing web of emotions tangled up with her dour Englishman as easily. With a sigh, she wandered through her cabin, running her fingers over the roll-top desk; the books and the barware; the pictures on the mantel. When she came to a window, she threw it open, welcoming the chill of the night air as it blew in off the Channel. Soon there was a delicious cross breeze, and she perched herself on her bed, leaning on the window-frame and gazing out over the blackness of the water. The air in her cabin had been stagnant, like the air in neglected places. It had been far too long since she had been home.

Home? She pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a snap of her fingers, wondering when she had come to think of this place as home. While it was true that she had a habit of referring to wherever she laid her head for the night as home; it was also true that at some point during her Romanian adventure, she’d caught herself thinking of Britain as home in the way that she usually thought of her parent’s farm in Edgewood as home.

She blew out a line of smoke, watching the winter wind send it dancing through the moonlight, and refused to ponder the reasons why.

*****

“How did it go?” Rachel asked on Monday as she, with Maggie strapped to her chest, and Miranda queued up behind a long line of hungry Embassy workers.

“I feel like I was hit by a truck, so pretty well,” Miranda replied, grimacing as she rolled her shoulders in a fruitless attempt to relieve their soreness.

“Did Healer A’isha say you would be alright at home? That you’ll be able to do all of your exercises?”

“Yes mother. She said it was just fine, signed me a note and everything. Besides, Severus will come by often enough to bother me about it, and he’s sterner than any of the Healers about training.”

“That’s good to know. Maybe between the two of us, we can keep you on track. You know you’re a terrible patient.”

“That’s fair. But I also know when I have to buckle down and work. Going into the Iele’s realm drained me more than I could have imagined possible.”

“Was it their realm, or their guards?”

“I think it was both—and rather than either—or. It’s been almost two months and I’m still not where I want to be.”

Rachel gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, and Maggie imitated her mother, catching hold of a lock of Miranda’s silver hair. “You’ll get there. It just takes time.”

She was absolutely sick of hearing that. “So everyone keeps telling me. What do you feel like having today?”

The creeping queue finally inched under the sloping, art deco doorways, and the cafeteria opened out before them, a gleaming, stainless steel cornucopia of choices. The shining walls were etched with enchanted scenes of vaudeville routines for the entertainment of the diners eating at the long farmhouse tables. Squeezed into the cavernous space was a dizzying array of American delicacies; from fried chicken and waffles, to jambalaya, to Boston cream pie and everything in between.

“I usually get the meatloaf and apple pie here. I’m boring,” Rachel said. “You?”

“It’s been forever since I’ve had some real pizza, and after that hellish check-up this morning I think it’s been long enough.”

“Good choice! New York style, right?” Rachel stuck her tongue out at her friend in anticipation of her answer.

Miranda stuck out her tongue in response before gasping, “Blasphemy! Chicago style is the only thing that qualifies as pizza in my book. Meet you at the usual spot?”

“Will do.”

The ladies parted to join the queues at their chosen kitchens, and Miranda soon lost Rachel and Maggie in the crowd. By the time she was close enough to see the handsome brick wood-burning oven, the morning tasks were beginning to make their effects known. She leaned heavily on the shining countertop, tapping her bright yellow tray with shaking fingers. Food would help—the sooner the better—and then maybe she’d ask Rachel to let her come down to the Lees’ flat for a nap. A long nap.

“Here y’go,” said a round-faced youth who seemed far too young to have a job.

“Thanks,” she murmured, taking the red hot plate and quickly setting it on the tray next to her lemonade. Scooping the whole thing up, she turned and swayed dangerously as a wave of dizziness hit her. She wanted to growl with frustration as she fell back against the counter. This whole recovering from almost dying business was not entertaining at all.

“May I help you, Miss?” A smooth, polite voice and a pair of firm hands steadied Miranda and her tray before either of them went toppling to the floor. “I know I’m always a mess when I need to eat.”

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Miranda protested halfheartedly, looking down into his pleasant face.

He would not be deterred. “Let me do it so I can tell my Mama I helped a nice lady. Where to?”

“I…well, thank you. This way.”

It was all she could do to keep herself steady as they crossed the crowded room. Her stomach was churning and she was starting to see spots on the edge of her vision. Clearly, she would be of no use to anyone until she put some food in her stomach. The noise of dishes crashing, people chattering, and the squeaking of the moving pictures on the walls coalesced into an cacophonous whirlpool that threatened to suck her under.

By the time they reached the table in the corner, Miranda’s last nerve was hanging by a single, fraying thread. Her knight errant set down the tray and pulled out a chair for her; which she all but collapsed into. The duo on the wall behind her yammered about the eternal question ( _Who’s playing first? That’s right._ ) and she started shoveling steaming pizza into her mouth so quickly that it burned.

Half a slice and a few gulps of lemonade later, she was capable of behaving as though she had not been born in a barn. She wiped her hands and face with her checked napkin and said ruefully, “Thank you for your help. I had a rough time at magical therapy this morning.”

He took the hand she extended and shook it firmly. “It was my good deed for the day. I hear that those Healers at St. Mungo’s are the devil when they’ve got hold of you.”

“You’ve heard right.”

She took a daintier bite of her pizza and studied her good Samaritan. He had a handsome face, complimented by a close-cut mustache and goatee. His kinky black hair was peppered through with silver, although his warm, copper-colored skin was unlined. His hands were large for his height and his suit was smartly cut and fitted closely to his muscular body. It lacked the sort of flamboyant accents of color that Aaron favored—this was clearly a man who preferred to advertise his taste by its subtle excellence.

She swallowed the last bite of her first slice and decided she really ought to introduce herself. “I’m Miranda Rose, by the way.”

His golden eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. “Are you? I’ve been itching to meet you! Robert Walker, at your service.”

Miranda blinked once before laughing with surprise. “Likewise. I’m only sorry to have met you when I’m in such a state. You must think me weak as a kitten.”

“No, Aaron’s told me all about what happened. You’re a regular danger girl.”

“Robert! It’s good to see you,” Rachel said, balancing a tray on her hip while Maggie attempted to overturn it from her perch.

“How’s my second favorite Mama?” Robert stood to give Rachel a peck on the cheek and deftly remove her tray from Maggie’s flailing arms. He deposited it on the table, and flicked his wand towards an alcove, which brought a high chair floating towards them. There was a small fuss over getting Maggie settled and providing her with food to taste and throw on the floor before conversation could continue.

“Aaron will be sorry he missed the pleasure of formally introducing you to each other,” Rachel commented after her first bite of meatloaf.

“I’ll be sure to give him a hard time about it then,” Robert replied. “What year were you at Ilvermorny Miranda? I may call you Miranda, yes?”

“Sure, if I can call you Robert,” Miranda agreed easily.

“I wish that you would. You graduated in ’83, same as Aaron, if I remember right.”

“I did. Same house too.”

“That’s right. You were a little too old and a little too young to know any of my siblings then.”

“How many do you have?”

“Five.”

“I have four older brothers myself. All No-Majs though.”

“My, you are special! The only girl, the only witch, _and_ the baby. Your brothers must’ve given you hell.”

“They did.” Maggie had finished gumming her crumbs of pizza, and Miranda gamely cut up a few more for her.

“Was Professor Rodriguez still stiff as a board when you were there?”

Miranda arched an eyebrow. “He was my head of House and my favorite teacher. I thought he was very personable. Did you not find him so?”

Robert shrugged, his attention apparently half on the game he was playing with the baby. Maggie was tossing her spoon on the floor and laughing delightedly when he sent it floating back up to her tray with a lazy wand flick. “He and I crossed wands from time to time. How’s motherhood treating you, Rachel?”

“It’s good! I’m exhausted and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s good. I’ve even been able to find time to get back to translating lately.”

“Your captive audience will be happy to hear that,” Miranda observed.

“Feel free to tell him that I’m starting with the potions text.” Rachel said before digging back into the meatloaf.

“If I may be so rude as to pry into something that’s probably not my business, how is your bill of health?” Robert asked, his attention still on the spoon-throwing baby.

“It’s getting there,” Miranda replied carefully. “Still not a hundred percent, but I think I’ll be cleared for light duty after Christmas.”

“You must be raring to go. How long have you been off?”

“Since October.”

“Long recoveries are the worst.” He charmed the spoon to twirl on its handle on Maggie’s highchair tray and turned the full force of his gaze back to Miranda. “I’m going to stop beating around the bush, since I’m sure that Aaron’s already tipped you off to the fact that I want to hire you.”

“He has mentioned it. What exactly do you want to hire me for?”

The glint in his eyes now reminded her more of a dragon than of Christmas. “I want a team of MACUSA Aurors, and I want you to be one of them. I’ll be partnering you with Aaron—I hear tell that the two of you are unstoppable.”

“Nobody’s unstoppable,” Miranda said lightly. “And I’ve never actually been an Auror. That was Aaron’s old line of work.”

“I’m aware of that, but you’ve got the experience. All I have to do is pull a few strings and we’ll have you vetted in no time.”

“What’s the assignment?”

“Primarily, you’ll be keeping an eye on our people in the UK. There’s all sorts of nasty things afoot these days, as I’m sure a smart lady like you is well aware. We’ll also be assisting Scrimegeour on a case-by-case basis.”

She finished her slice and studied Robert’s relaxed posture, finally understanding what Aaron meant when he said that the ambassador was ‘hard to read.’

“I’m going to be honest, I refuse to be deputized as an Auror. It’s a matter of principle.”

Robert let out a rumbling laugh and reassured her, “I expect we can work around that with a little creative thinking. May I send you a contract to look over?”

“Sure. Never hurts to look.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Are you always this accommodating?”

“Only when it’s for someone worth having. And I anticipate that you will be well worth having.”

She couldn’t contain her smile. “Such flattery! No wonder you’re the ambassador.”

“You’ve found out my secret.” He stood and bowed to each of the ladies in turn. “Rachel, Miranda, Magdalene, thank you for your time and I hope you enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Look for an owl later this week, Miranda.”

“I will. Nice to meet you, Robert.”

He strolled off, meandering through the cafeteria and pausing to talk with various people. Miranda watched him until he was out of sight, turning his proposal over in her mind.

“What do you think of him?” Rachel asked, pulling Maggie out of the highchair and settling her down to nurse.

“He’s interesting, that’s for certain.”

“Are you going to take his offer?”

“I’ll think about it. I’m surprised that you let Aaron go back to the Auror life. I thought it was too dangerous for your liking.”

Rachel gave Maggie a finger to hold, and snuggled her a little closer. “I don’t really like it, but it’s true that these are dangerous times. We all have to do what we can to help. And I’d feel better knowing you were out there with him.”

“I meant what I said about not taking the Auror’s oath. Too many strings.”

“Sometimes strings aren’t a bad thing,” Rachel observed mildly. “The right ones can hold you up.”

“That may be true,” Miranda agreed, absently running a finger around the rim of her lemonade glass. “But the wrong ones can strangle you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Severus is reading Arthur Koestler’s Darkness at Noon.
> 
> The vaudeville routine behind Miranda’s table is Bud Abbot and Lou Costello’s “Who’s on First?”


	2. Fool Me Once

  
_amazing picspam by crowsb4brows_

The snow was already deep enough to leave tracks in when Miranda appeared outside the wards late in the evening the Friday before Christmas. The impervious charm she’d cast on her silver shoes kept her feet dry, but did nothing to keep out the cold. She hurried over the grounds, holding her rich purple robes out of the damp. For some reason, whenever she cast the charm on fabric, it tended to make the colors bleed. Someday she would trouble herself to perfect the spell, but there were many other spells higher up on her to-learn list.

The wrought-iron gates were locked and deserted, and she shook the tangled chains as well as she could, sending a mournful clanging echoing through night. A large man with a thick beard and an ambling gait lumbered out of the shadows with a huge black dog at his heels. The canine’s teeth were clenched on one end of a bone, the other end of which was gripped in the huge wizard’s enormous fist.

“Good evenin’ to you Miss,” he said gruffly. “I take it yer here for Professor Slughorn’s party?”

“I am,” Miranda replied, producing the thick cardstock bearing her name and a border of embossed snakes that slithered and hissed in response to the night air.

The man peered at the invitation, tapping the gordian knot of chains with the end of a pink umbrella when he was satisfied with its veracity. The chains clanked open and Miranda had barely enough time to slip through them before they slammed shut behind her. Her guard finally wrenched the bone out of the dog’s mouth and hurled it out into the night. The dog sprinted after it, leaving the watchman’s hands free to wrestle the chains back into place.

“I know the way, and I’d be happy to see myself in. I’m sure you have better things to do than wait out in the snow,” she offered, her feet slowly turning to ice.

“I’ll be takin’ yeh just the same,” he grunted as he twisted the final lock closed. “Can’ be too careful.”

“I understand.” Best not to mention that she still had access to one of the secret entrances. Albus had never rescinded that permission, and neither she nor Severus had seen the point of troubling him about it.

They made quick progress over the grounds, with Miranda all but running to keep pace with the wizard’s long strides. When they reached the stairs, his hound caught up with them, dropping its prize at their feet and leaping excitedly. He was a beautiful, and evidently good tempered creature, and Miranda liked him immediately.

“Down Fang!” her escort ordered.

Miranda laughed. “It’s fine. Sit, boy, and I’ll pet you.”

Her voice was confident enough that it captured the beast’s instant obedience, and she scratched the brute behind its ears until its tail was thumping happily.

“Yer alright, Miss,” Fang’s owner said gamely. “Fang means well, but I didn’ want him to be ruinin’ yer fancy dress.”

“He’s a good boy, aren’t you Fang? Do you want another go?” She scooped up the bone and Fang leapt to his feet, watching her aim into the distance and throw. He bounded off after it and she said, “Offer him my apologies will you?”

“Yes’m. You’d best be gettin’ inside before he gets back, or ye’ll be out here all night.”

She was up the stairs and through the doors before Fang returned, and a house elf wearing mismatched socks and an orange cabled sweater was waiting for her.

“Miss is here for the party, Dobby expects?” the elf asked.

“I am,” Miranda said, reaching for the invitation again, but Dobby waved it away.

“There’s no need, Miss, just follow Dobby.”

They wound their way up to the seventh floor and Miranda was more than happy to hand over her cloak when they reached Slughorn’s office. She smoothed the skirts of her robes and ran a hand over her hair, tucking a stray lock into place as she stood on the threshold.

“Call for Dobby when you wish your cloak returned,” Dobby said cheerfully. “And would Miss like a glass of mead, butterbeer, or elfwine?”

“Mead would be lovely,” she replied.

A jeweled goblet filled with dark amber liquid appeared in Dobby’s hand, and he passed it to her. “Miss made a good choice. The mead is from Headmaster’s private stores, it is.”

“Thank you.” Miranda took a bracing sip, savoring the sweet burn on her tongue. The house elf disappeared with a quiet pop, and with a final shake of her skirts, she went in to the party.

It was an out and out crush. Miranda had a hard time telling the students from the adults at first as she stepped underneath the golden canopy. The din of the conversation was pitched at a dull roar, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and raucous laughter, and accompanied by a tipsy amateur quartet in one of the back corners. Horace was happily ensconced in the center of a group of rapt listeners, and Miranda decided there was no rush to greet him. She let herself drift through the crowd, sipping her mead and running her eyes over the guests in search of one, dour face.

She felt him before she saw him. As she skirted around a house elf burdened with a heavy tray of Niçoise tidbits, the sensation of being watched troubled her to the point that she turned over her shoulder to find Severus half a room away. His inscrutable eyes were fixed on her, and his lips twitched briefly into a smile which she did not fail to return. She let the crowd rush between them, and held onto his gaze as she slipped into a quiet corner, shielded partly by the heavy damask overhang of the canopy. He did not disappoint her; appearing a few moments later and taking a position adjacent to her along the wall.

“So tardy,” he murmured, his silken tone at odds with his bored expression as he pretended to chaperone the party swirling around them. “I should give you detention.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she replied, enjoying the warmth of his gaze when he let his eyes slide sideways to meet hers. “Besides, I was late because I was finishing all those damned exercises like a good girl.”

“Were you? I shall have to see you are suitably rewarded.” He ran a long finger over the back of her hand and asked, “Am I correct in assuming that you are still planning to stay tonight?”

She felt her cheeks heat up as the warmth from his words and his touch worked their magic. “Yes, I think that’s a safe assumption.”

He let their fingers lace together for a moment, and she was weighing out the risks of pulling him firmly behind the damask overhang for a kiss, when one of Horace’s fat arms snaked out of nowhere and wrapped itself around Severus.

“Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!” hiccuped the old potions master, the tassel on his hat helicoptering as he jerked Severus into the center of the action.

The consternation on Severus’s face was priceless, and Miranda gave him a jaunty wave before allowing the current of the party to separate them. She helped herself to some of the strawberry tarts and another glass of mead found its way into her hand to replace the empty one. Donaghan Tremlett in his ripped denim and shaggy coat gave her a friendly nod, and she was making her way towards him to pay her respects, when another guest demanded her attention.

“Miss Rose, it has been far too long.” Miranda repressed a shiver at the faintly sibilant voice and turned to its emaciated owner.

“Signore Sanguini,” she said, noting that his hands were empty and his tailoring outdated. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He gracefully snatched the hand she had not extended to him and brushed his cold lips against it. Even after years of practice, she still could not completely repress a shiver as the chill of the undead chased away all the warmth in her.

The vampire smirked at her discomfort and let his icy breath tickle her hand as he commented, “What an unexpected surprise. I did not expect ever to have the pleasure of seeing you again.”

“Yes, our last meeting was rather fraught, wasn’t it?” She slowly, but firmly, extracted her hand.

“Fraught is one term for it.” He let his eyes travel the length of her like he were appraising a side of beef. “Passionate would also suit the purpose. Enraging might describe it better still.”

She took a long sip from her glass and forced her shoulders to relax as she started to ease her pistol out of its holster. If things got ugly, silver would work better than a wand. Pity she’d left her stakes at home.

“I met your cousin last summer,” she said nonchalantly.

“I know.” His smirk was sharp enough to cut glass. “The family is not at all pleased with you, Miss Rose; I hope you are aware of that.”

She shrugged. “Your cousin should have stayed on the right side of the law.”

He let out a bark of laughter and leaned down to close the space between them. “What do _you_ know about the right side of the law?”

The edge of her mind blurred as his eyes did their work on her, and she had to turn her head away for an instant to break the spell. Unfortunately, that instant was enough for him to slip beside her, and his lips were far too close to her neck when he whispered, “ _Topolina_ , this game would be more amusing if we continued it in private, _non sei d’accordo_?”

His breath was cloying, and it made her head swim nearly as badly as his eye trick had. She gripped her pistol in the folds of her skirts and said sweetly, “I haven't changed my mind since Rome, Dante. And if I go anywhere with you, it’ll be for the sole pleasure of reuniting you with your dear cousin.”

“Sanguini!” blustered a marshmallow of a man who toddled forward and thrust himself between them. “I’m so sorry, Miss, I can’t seem to leave him alone for a second.”

Miranda put her pistol back in its holster and resisted the urge to laugh in the vampire’s stricken face. “Not at all. We were just renewing our acquaintance.” She looked over the little man’s head and asked incredulously, “Really, Sanguini? A babysitter? I had no idea you were so domesticated. You used to be the scourge of the Continent.”

She thought he was going to strike her and she was tensing in preparation to dodge it—knowing she would have to leap before he launched if she hoped to outmaneuver his preternatural speed—when he threw back his head and laughed melodiously.

“ _Si_ , _si_ , I am getting old, aren’t I? _Pace_ _topolina_ , let us have peace between us. What are you drinking?”

“Mead, but my glass is almost empty. And I’d rather be at peace with you any day. How long are you in town?”

“I do not keep track of such details, that is what this one is for,” he replied, indicating the marshmallow man with an indifferent wave.

“Have him send me an owl and I’ll meet you for dinner.”

“I would rather hear Verdi with you and remember old times.”

“That sounds marvelous. But now you can get me another drink.”

“Your wish is my command.”

He took her empty glass and gave her a sweeping bow before disappearing into the crowd in search of an appropriate house elf. Miranda turned her attention to Sanguini’s diminutive babysitter and began distractedly exchanging the necessary information with him, but most of her attention was captured by a fracas between a spindly old man and a sulky boy with shockingly blond hair that suddenly tumbled into the party. Miranda was too far from the door to hear any of the business, but she could see the rage etched on Severus’s face as he dragged the boy out of the party by the scruff of his neck.

The vampire-sitter finished taking her direction and scurried off in search of his charge, and Miranda slid her hands into the pockets of her skirt and reflected, not for the first time, that she would have detested having Severus for a teacher.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” said a dreamy voice beside her.

Miranda looked down to see the sweet blond girl from the Potions class she’d sat in on the year before. “I beg your pardon?”

“Our dates. They’ll be back soon. I’m Luna Lovegood, by the way. We weren’t really introduced last time. Are you enjoyingyour subscription?”

“I am, thank you. Nice to meet you officially, Luna. I’m Miranda Rose.” She held out her hand and the girl shook it with a surprisingly firm grip for a young lady who seemed to have her head in the clouds. “How are the thestrals these days?”

“Very well. They had an attack of sneezles when the weather changed, but they’re all much better now.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

The urge to ask whether or not Severus had been out to see the thestrals lately was nearly overpowering, and only Sanguini’s arrival with Miranda’s fresh glass of mead prevented her from giving into it. The vampire pecked her cheek and laughed once more at her goosebumps before melting into the crowd, and by the time Miranda’s attention was back on the moonstruck girl next to her, the topic had passed.

“Are you having a nice time?” Luna asked, bouncing on her heels in time to the music.

“I am. Horace throws a lovely party. And you?”

“Oh, yes. Harry asked me to come, as friends of course. But no one ever asks me to go anywhere, so it’s a great treat.”

“What, never?”

“Hardly ever.” Luna giggled at her joke and Miranda laughed with her.

“It’s their loss. Thank you for loaning me those books by the way. I enjoyed them very much. Sherlock Holmes was one of my favorite characters as a girl, but I hadn’t read the stories in a long time.”

“Do you like Mr Holmes?” Luna asked, suddenly grave. “He can be so ungentle sometimes.”

“That’s true. The brilliance that makes him so interesting also seems to get in the way of his noticing that other people have things like feelings. They way he lets Watson believe that he’s dead after the Reichenbach Falls incident—I can understand why Watson is furious with him later. I would have been too.”

“And I don’t _think_ that he means to hurt Dr Watson’s feelings. That’s what makes it all so sad.”

“I agree.”

“But it’s worse because Watson understands Holmes better than Holmes understands himself,” Luna spun in a circle. “It’s like being angry with a child.”

Severus stormed back into the room and, even from this distance, Miranda could tell that he was still furious. He did not spare a glance for her as he took up his post by the wall again, arms crossed and black eyes glaring.

Luna smiled serenely as the mandolin in the corner started strumming a spirited _Foggy Dew_ , and said, “Ginny said she would dance with me if I wanted, and this song is so springy. I think I’ll go find her now.”

“It was nice talking with you, Luna.”

“You, too. Good night.”

Luna floated away, spinning and skipping, and Miranda started weaving through the knots of people back to Severus’s side of the room. Something about his manner warned her that the trouble outside had been more than the usual student mischief. She was nearly through the throng, and she had just caught his eye, when Horace wrapped an arm around her shoulder, snatching her into his inner circle.

“There you are Miss Rose!” Horace beamed. “I was beginning to lose hope of seeing you. Allow me to present Octavius Pepper. Octavius, Miranda Rose is just the woman you’ve been looking for.”

Octavius Pepper peered through his wire-rimmed glasses and shook back his unruly white hair as he bowed to her in the formal way that wizards of a certain age were in the habit of doing. His robes were antique, but well maintained, and he had a nervous energy flowing out of him in the form of restless finger twitches. He launched into a winding explanation of what it was he wanted from her in a nasally wheeze, and she groaned inwardly, setting a plastic smile on her face as she tried to pull her awareness away from Severus, whose eyes she could still feel boring into the back of her skull.

Octavius took no notice of any of this as he meandered through his story, obviously one of _those_ kinds of customers. It was going to be a long night.

*****

Severus fell into bed at half past two, his head pounding with a headache that blurred his vision, and his temper frayed to match. Although the students were all finally confined to their dormitories, the party in Horace’s office was still raging full tilt—if anything, the removal of the minors had increased the fury of the revelers. Severus had left Miranda ensconced in a tight group of admirers that she had shown no sign of jilting. He had taken a circuitous route to bed to ensure that the students were all in order, and give her the chance to extract herself before he decided to vent his temper on her. But, even after all his dallying—in the hallways, over a cup of tea, and removing all evidence of the wretched evening from his person—she still had not deigned to grace him with her presence, and he felt fully justified in transferring some of his fury at Draco to her.

He had no hope of actually falling asleep with his head feeling as though it were being split like an overripe melon, but he was beginning to drift in and out of lucid dreaming when he heard the door open. His wayward lover flounced into the sitting room, singing some godforsaken Muggle song and (he was certain of it) strewing her shoes and other belongings heedlessly on every available surface. She called his name once, and he turned his back to the door--which increased the pressure on his temples mightily--squeezing his eyes stubbornly closed.

The bedroom door creaked open, and the light in the sitting room extinguished almost as soon as it fell on him. He heard her pad over to his bed and felt the mattress dip as she slipped over to sit next to him. Her hand was pleasantly cool when she laid it on his cheek and brushed his hair away from his face.

“I know you’re not asleep,” she said quietly. “Do you have one of those migraines again?”

Curse her. Why did she have to be so damned _nice_ to him when he was angry? “Yes,” he answered without opening his eyes.

“Did you take a Headache Potion?”

“No.”

The mattress dipped again as she slid off the bed and padded into the next room for supplies. She made as little noise as possible as she made ready for bed, and Severus rolled onto his back as some of the anger in his chest began to unkink. He rarely let himself dwell on how much he regretted Miranda’s removing herself from his rooms; but this matter-of-fact interest that she took in his well-being was what he missed most of all. By the time she came to bed, a cup of tea in one hand and a vial of Headache Potion in the other, his anger had softened enough that he took the vial without protest while she settled herself next to him, her back against the ebony headboard.

“Here, lay your head down and I’ll see what I can do while we wait for the potion to kick in,” she said, patting her lap.

“I’d given up waiting for you,” he said, his voice coming out all the harsher for his attempt to keep the plea for reassurance out of it.

“I figured that out.” She started running her fingers lightly over his face and his hair, tugging on his ear lobes and working some sort of strange magic that unwound his headache as surely as her presence soothed his temper. “It took a while for me to get away from Horace’s friend.”

“Ah, yes. Octavius Pepper, was it?”

“You know him?”

“I don’t. What did he want?” Merlin it was good to have a head that didn’t pound.

“He wants me to retrieve something for him. But not until March. What happened with the party-crasher? You were so angry when you came back.”

His first instinct was to refuse to answer her question, which he suspected she was asking to divert him from pressing her for more information about Mr Pepper’s likely dangerous commission; but her fingers were so delicious on his temples, and her lap was so very comfortable, and her concern was one of those priceless pearls that he coveted; and so he wet his lips and let his interrogation lie for the time being.

“The boy in question was Draco Malfoy.”

“Malfoy? Lucius’s son?” The surprise in her voice was evident.

“The same.”

“He’s one of yours, isn’t he?”

“He is, and he had no business being out of bounds tonight.”

“He certainly had no business being caught out of bounds, in any case.” Her fingers moved in small, slow circles over his cheeks and down the side of his neck, and every muscle loosened under their touch. “It must be hard on him, though, with his father in Azkaban. Even if his father is a prick like Lucius.”

“It is hard on him. Particularly since the Dark Lord has decided to express his displeasure with Lucius by punishing the rest of his family.”

“Fuck. What’s he done?”

He should stop talking now, but her fingers were on his shoulders and his restraint was nonexistent. “He gave Draco the mark over the summer.”

“Good Lord. He’s a child! His poor mother.”

Draco’s poor mother, indeed. “He’s also given him a task to perform that the boy is not expected to survive.”

“Are you helping him?”

How in the name of Merlin was he supposed to keep his secrets when she was drawing every modicum of pain and tension out of his body? Those fingers should be registered as lethal weapons. “I’m trying to help him. He is resisting.”

“He’s how old? Fifteen?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen-year-old boys are the worst. They think they know everything. You have to help him without his realizing that’s what is happening—or make him think it was his idea in the first place.”

“That sounds like an abominable waste of time.”

“I don’t know. It works with you.” She kissed his forehead and asked, “Is your migraine better? Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

“Yes on both counts.”

He shifted off of her lap, and she scooted over to lay her head on his shoulder. When his arms were wrapped around her and his chin was resting on the top of her head, he was astonished at how far away the Dark Lord and all the troubles of the world seemed. The fatal words were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them, and held her tighter.

He was still perched on a knife’s edge, after all. There was no use in upsetting his precarious balance with unwanted declarations. Not when what he had was close enough to what he wanted, as long as he squinted when he contemplated it.

*****

“ _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London,_ ” Miranda thought as she boldly approached the crack between numbers Eleven and Thirteen the following evening. The once-handsome townhouse unfolded before her, looking like a worn-out matron clinging to the memories of her storied youth. For all her shabbiness, she held her self with the air of one who knows she has fallen in with bad company, but has the gumption to hope for better days. Miranda flicked her wand at the handleless front door, pleased to find that Albus had given her the correct charms to gain entry, and stepped into the gaslit hallway as the door swung shut behind her.

“What is this? Yet _more_ Mudblood _filth_ to sully my house?!” shrieked a woman from her curtained portrait.

“Nice to meet you too,” Miranda replied pleasantly, noting that the dowager in the painting matched the exterior of the manor in both form and temper.

“You _dare_ address me? Of all the impertinence…”

Miranda strode past the flurry of insults through the crumbling ruin of Victorian opulence in search of the door that would lead her down to the meeting in the kitchen. Schedules being what they were, she had been forced to make this first official contact with the Order of the Phoenix without a physical guide to vouch for her. She had Albus’s word as her letter of safe conduct; but the disapproving silence of the ghostly house made her wish that she’d been able to secure Arthur or Molly Weasley as an escort.

A humble door at the end of the long entryway was all but hidden from view, like a scullery maid embarrassed to be caught upstairs lighting the fires. Miranda made sure that her hands were empty, but that her wand was ready to slide into fighting position at an instant’s notice, before rapping on the door and entering the crumbling stone stairwell. A dull, blood-red glow illuminated the bottom of the stairs, and she let her footsteps fall heavily to alert those below of her approach. She made it all the way down to the final step before a pair of wizards blocked her entrance, wands drawn and all but growling at her.

“I come in peace,” she said, holding her hands up, palms wide, to prove the point. “Albus Dumbledore sent me. He says he’s fond of lemon drops.”

“Means nothin’. The whole bloody world knows that,” spat the shorter wizard. It was hard to know what part of him looked the oddest—his mane of wiry hair that stood up in all directions, his claw-footed peg-leg, or his ice-blue mechanical eye that whirled wildly in its socket.

“Easy Mad-eye,” said the other in a slow, deep voice. He held himself with the ease of a jungle cat, and though the expression on his dark brown face was unconcerned, she knew better than to assume that he would fail to strike if provoked. “If Albus didn’t send her, how else did she get in? I’m Kingsley Shacklebolt, and this here is Alastor Moody, at your service.”

“I’m Miranda Rose, and I’m delighted to meet you both. I’ve been working for Albus for just over a year now, and he thought it was time to introduce me to the rest of the team,” she explained, modulating her voice to a calm pitch and an unhurried speed. “Do you mind if I come down into the kitchen? I was taught that it’s rude to lurk in doorways.”

“Not to mention inconvenient and dangerous,” a voice like a knife’s edge put in behind her.

She started involuntarily, chiding herself for allowing Severus to sneak up on her while she was distracted by his comrades. Alastor seemed to accept her request as reasonable, and he retreated enough to allow her and Severus to enter the neglected space. Kingsley withdrew to lean against a worn counter, and Severus swept past her, positioning himself at Alastor’s shoulder. Neither Kingsley nor Alastor put down their wands, although Kingsley let his dangle negligently between his fingers, while Alastor kept his trained threateningly on her heart.

“And who might you be?” demanded Severus in a dangerously low voice that betrayed no hint that they had spent most of the day lounging in his bed together.

“Miranda Rose,” she confidently replied, sticking out her hand to him.

He eyed it as though it were a rotted newt’s tongue and replied, “That tells me nothing. Why are you here?”

She lowered her hand and raised her eyebrows. “As I already told your friends, Albus Dumbledore sent me. According to him, there’s a Professor McGonagall who was supposed to be in charge tonight. She’ll be expecting me.”

“Have you heard anything about this, Snape?” asked Alastor, his eye still swiveling about with a sickly whine.

“No,” Severus replied coldly.

“Do you believe her?”

If Miranda did not know her lover as well as she did, she would have missed the glint of humor that sparked briefly in his eyes. “I do not like that she is here. Perhaps we should search her person.”

“It seems to me that Mr Moody has already done an excellent job of searching my person with that enchanted eye of his,” Miranda said, allowing a hint of irritation to color her tone. “I’m going to have to decline anything more intimate. There’s no need to go rifling through my unmentionables.”

“No, but there’s every need to go rifling through that cache of weapons you’ve got strapped to them,” Alastor countered.

“Weapons?” Severus’s voice was dangerous indeed.

“I’m working.” Miranda put her hands on her hips and let some of her magic vibrate out into the room.

“Miss Rose, I find it difficult to believe that Albus would neglect to inform me of a new recruit, particularly one of such…singularity. And where _are_ you from? That accent is appalling.”

She lifted her chin and replied proudly, “I’m from Edgewood, Kansas.”

“Where?” Kingsley asked, interest piqued.

“It’s in America.” Miranda leveled a glare at Severus that rivaled any he could produce. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but I was told that Professor McGonagall was in charge, and I’m assuming you don’t answer to that name.”

“Down, Snape,” Kingsley said, pocketing his wand at last. He pulled a chair out from the splintery table and continued, “Miss Rose, any friend of Albus’s is a friend of ours. You’ll have to excuse Professor Snape and Mr Moody—distrusting people is their job. Would you like anything to drink while we wait for the others?”

“Thank you, and no, I don’t need anything,” Miranda said, taking the seat he offered.

He settled himself into the chair at her right hand, and Alastor limped over to sit down across from her. Severus glided over to the spot at the counter that Kingsley had vacated, tapping his fingers irritably on the sagging wood and studying the lot of them disapprovingly.

“I have a good friend who transferred to New York a few years ago,” Kingsley said conversationally. “That’s not anywhere near Kansas, is it?”

“Depends on how you’re traveling,” Miranda replied. “By portkey, everywhere is close. But as the crow flies, it’s about a thousand miles.”

“Shouldn’t we be asking her more useful questions?” Severus snapped.

“Minerva will be here any minute,” Kingsley countered. “May as well be polite until then.”

“Begging your pardon, Professor Snape, but do you honestly think that if I were clever enough to circumvent the Fidelius Charm in the first place, that I would then be stupid enough to attempt a frontal attack at a meeting comprised of a coven of well-trained and well-armed witches and wizards?” Miranda asked pointedly.

“It remains to be seen how stupid you may be,” Severus replied.

“I see that the rumors of the English having good manners are greatly exaggerated,” Miranda shot back.

“Nobody ever accused Snape of having good manners,” Alastor commented jovially.

Severus opened his mouth to retort, but his wit was to be deferred to another occasion as a ragged man, a glum-faced young woman, and a brusque matron with a tartan pinned over her neat robes entered the kitchen.

“Good evening gentlemen,” the matron said crisply, a hint of a burr kissing the consonants that marched off her tongue. “And Miss Rose, I presume. Albus told me to expect you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Miranda replied, rising from her seat to shake the older woman’s hand, and shooting an I-told-you-so smirk Severus’s way. He was pointedly looking in the opposite direction.

“You’ve already met these three, I take it,” Minerva continued as she and the newcomers joined the group gathered at the table. “This is Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks.”

“It’s just Tonks,” the melancholy woman half-heartedly corrected.

“Nice to meet you both,” Miranda said, and any further pleasantries were swallowed up by Minerva’s quick launch into the evening’s business.

“I’m going to keep this brief, as I expect we all have places we’d rather be tonight. Tonks, when are the new wards around the school going to be finished?”

“We’ll have them done before the students return from the Holidays,” Tonks replied, her voice firmer.

“I suppose that will have to do. Kingsley, Alastor, any news from the Ministry?”

Kingsley and Alastor started talking at once, and a verbal scuffle ensued that Kingsley allowed Alastor to win. As the strange old man launched into a paranoid narrative full of names that Miranda neither recognized, nor cared about, she took a moment to study the motley army that Albus hoped would bring down the greatest Dark Wizard since Gellert Grindelwald’s ignominious reign of terror. Alastor himself seemed to have a tenuous grip on reality, but his reflexes were sharp. She would rather have him in her corner than in the enemy’s. Kingsley struck her as confident and capable—a man who had nothing to prove. Remus’s sickly appearance meant he was either a werewolf, or possessed of a weak constitution; she hoped for the sake of the Order that it was the former. Tonks was a mystery; she was suffering from some sort of melancholia, but when questioned she seemed certain of her business. Minerva was everything one could hope for in a leader, and Miranda found that she preferred the witch’s brisk efficiency to Albus’s cerebral machinations. Severus…well, Severus’s act was adorable, and she would be sure to tell him so at the earliest possible moment.

“It’s not much better than when Cornelius Fudge was there, in my opinion,” Kingsley offered, the familiar name drawing Miranda’s attention. “Scrimgeour might be a better fighter, but his behavior is as out of place at times as Fudge’s was—only in different ways.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you think he’s been compromised?”

“Hard to say, Minerva,” Alastor said, his magical eye still fixed on Miranda. “He’s not acting like he’s been _Imperioed_ , and he’s got no love for Voldemort nor the rest of that lot, but he’s acting dodgy all the same. I’ll be keeping my eye on him, you can be sure of that.”

“See that you do. Severus, do you have anything for us?”

Severus ran a finger over his thin lips and let silence fall before reporting, “I suggest that the areas of London that our kind is known to frequent be patrolled more heavily over the the next few weeks. The Dark Lord expects there to be a lack of caution as those who should know better expect the Holidays to protect them from harm, and he intends to take full advantage of it.”

“That’s a lot of ground for the Aurors to cover, Snape. Can’t you be more specific than that?” Alastor grumbled.

“No.” The finality of the single syllable prevented any further questioning from Alastor, although he did make a rude gesture under the table in Severus’s direction.

“If I understand correctly, the MACUSA Aurors will be around to help,” Miranda offered cautiously.

“Yes, I’ve met with Ambassador Walker, and he’s agreed to provide us with a list of the MACUSA patrols,” Minerva replied.

“How nice of him,” Alastor said sarcastically.

“At least it’ll keep us from duplicating our efforts,” Kingsley commented.

“It’ll have to do for now,” Minerva said, ending the debate. “If none of you have anything else to report, I’ll bid you good night. Remus, Miss Rose, if you would both stay for a few minutes longer, I would appreciate it.”

Effectively dismissed, the others didn’t linger. Kingsley, Alastor, and Tonks left together, with the men both making unsuccessful attempts to draw the moody witch into conversation. Miranda saw the solemn woman cast a furtive glance in Remus’s direction, but he did not acknowledge it—that explained the source of the melancholia. Severus dropped a quiet word in Minerva’s ear and strode out of the room without further acknowledging anyone.

Once the others were gone, Minerva heaved a sigh, and the years suddenly seemed to weigh heavier on her shoulders. “Miss Rose, under ordinary circumstances, I would ease you in but, as we’re in the middle of a war, there’s no time to be gentle.”

“I understand,” Miranda replied. “Why don’t you call me Miranda then, and just tell me what you need.”

“I hope you won’t regret that offer, but I will be taking you at your word. Remus has been making inroads into the local werewolf packs, in the hopes that we might win some of them over to our side.”

“I see. I take it you speak their language.” Good, a werewolf was better than a dying man.

An expression of mirthless amusement twisted Remus’s drawn face. “That’s one way of putting it. But if you’re asking me if I’m one of them, the answer is yes.” His dull green eyes sharpened and his nostrils flared like a wolf testing the air. “I can see that you are not.”

“No, but I’ve tangled with a werewolf or two in my day.”

He frowned and turned to Minerva. “Things are delicate enough with the packs without attempting a frontal assault.”

“Nobody’s talking about any assaulting,” Minerva replied. “I thought you told Albus that you needed a non-wolf that the packs might respect.”

“I did.” His eyes slid out of focus as he studied Miranda, and she suspected he was testing her by smell as much as by sight.

“Look, I don’t expect you to trust me right off, that’d be stupid,” Miranda said. “But I can hold my own against the loups-garous, and I’ll venture to say that I respect them more than most witches on this island.”

“Respect? That’s a word that is rarely offered to my kind by yours.”

“Mr Lupin, in case you missed it, I’m not from around these parts. Back home, a loup-garou who is in control of himself is a being to be respected, not shunned.”

His eyes came into focus, and she could see the wolf lurking in their depths. She willed herself not to blink, like they were a pair of children on the playground playing a game of chicken.

At last he asked, “Miss Rose, are you an animagus?”

“Not yet, but I could learn.”

The hair on the back of Miranda’s neck stood on end as he stared at her, unblinking, for a few moments more. Then he released her from their game, and his shoulders slumped back into the unassuming posture he adopted when the wolf wasn’t riled.

“She may well do, Minerva. Can you teach her?” he asked.

“I can teach anyone who’s willing to learn, and most that aren’t.” Minerva replied.

“Wonderful,” Miranda said, mindful of the warning still tingling at the base of her neck. “When do I start?”

*****

Later that evening, Severus was picking through the novels on Miranda’s shelves, waiting for her to finish her last minute packing. Although her trip home to Kansas would last less than a week, she was fretting over the best charms with which to protect the plethora of carved toys she had made for her army of nieces and nephews during her convalescence. Severus knew better than to make suggestions to her when she was agitated, and had contented himself with tidying the dinner dishes and packing her potions for her.

Nothing on the bookshelf seemed enticing tonight, and he wandered over to the sofa, picking up the Dosteovsky volume sitting on the coffee table. He flipped it open, meandering through the pages until a letter that was marking Miranda’s place fell onto his lap. He was halfway through the missive before it struck him that he was reading something that perhaps she had not intended for his eyes.

_And I hope that Severus will be able to come with you, although I understand if his work won’t allow him the time. In any case, give him our love. Everyone is so excited to see you._

_Love,_  
_Mama_

He quickly scanned the rest of the sheet, and shoved it back into the book, replacing the whole damned thing on the coffee table and staring into the fireplace without seeing anything. Miranda’s trip home had been set for weeks, but she had never once bothered to mention that he had been invited to be one of the party. The fry up he’d made for dinner sat like lead in his stomach, and his thoughts spiraled into a whirlwind barbed with unpleasant realization.

Of course she would not want him to meet the son that she was hiding from him. Nor would she want to introduce him to the rest of her family as though he were going to be some sort of permanent fixture in her life. She was simply biding her time, amusing herself with him for some godforsaken reason, until she tired of this game and moved on to greener pastures.

His hands were shaking, and he got up, pacing before the fire without being aware of what he was doing. After a moment of this unproductive movement, he went to the door and took his cloak off the hook, wrapping it around his shoulders. Miranda emerged from her bedroom, and the tired smile fell from her face as she saw him making ready to depart.

“I thought you were staying,” she said worriedly. “Did the Dark Lord call?”

“No,” Severus replied, feeling like a heel and hating her for it. “I simply do not see the point of distracting you from making ready for tomorrow. I will see you when you return, I’m sure.”

She crossed the room to him, biting her lower lip in an unusual show of discomfort. The sight was oddly endearing, as was the impulsive way that she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. His arms went around her instinctively, as though he might stanch the wounds her careless claws had rendered with the feel of her lithe body.

“I’ll miss you,” she said.

“I doubt that,” he replied.

She stepped away, sliding her hands down his arms and catching hold of his hands when she found them.

“Come with me,” she blurted suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“To Edgewood. Come with me. There’s a portkey in Mr Clarke’s store, so you could come back in no time if you had to; and Mama and Papa would love to see you. So would everyone else, for that matter. Except for Susan, but she doesn’t like to meet anybody. I mean, they _are_ loud, but they’re honest. There’s a little hunting lodge out by the river that we can stay in, so you’d have a quiet place whenever you wanted a break. And there’ll be blind man’s bluff, and Christmas carols, and a pudding too.”

He laid a finger over her lips to stop her outburst, and the way this eleventh hour invitation made his heart leap disgusted him to the core of his being. Not since he’d been a schoolboy, panting after Lily like a whipped puppy, had he felt so pathetic.

“I thank you, no. Perhaps if I had had more notice, I might have arranged something. I’m sure you understand that it is too late now.” She wilted under his words and he felt every inch the bastard that he was.

“I would have told you sooner,” she said quietly, her cheeks flushed. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to come.”

“Now we’ll never know, will we? Good night, Miranda. A pleasant journey to you.”

“Good night, Severus. Merry Christmas.”

She closed the door softly after him, not waiting to see him vanish. As he reached the edge of her wards, the urge to go back and tell her that he would accompany her after all rushed over him like a wave. He choked it down ruthlessly and disappeared.

He might be at her mercy, but there was no reason for her to be made aware of the fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horace’s first line in the party scene is quoted from page 319 of the 2005 paperback edition of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling.
> 
> Topolina: little mouse
> 
> Non sei d’accordo: Don’t you agree?
> 
> The Dubliners have a wonderful version of Foggy Dew.
> 
> The Muggle song Miranda is singing is Que Sera Sera in the style of Sly and the Family Stone.
> 
> loups-garous: werewolves


	3. Holly Wreathes and Humbug

Miranda landed in Mr Clarke’s General Store in the little hamlet of Edgewood at one o’clock in the morning, Kansas time. She held onto the ruby slipper long after the portkey had stopped glowing, letting her stomach settle from the trip. The store hadn’t changed much in the two years since she’d last seen it, when she’d been making ready for her expedition to the United Kingdom and beyond. The wooden floors were laid in a herringbone pattern, and they gleamed from their weekly polishing. The smell of cinnamon brooms and the warmth from the radiators wrapped around her, and she smiled to see the barrels of Christmas candy amid the more practical necessities of life that were piled neatly on every surface.

“My Lord, Miranda, but it’s been a long time,” said the sturdy man behind the counter. He was dressed in faded denim and a plaid flannel shirt, unchanging as his store.

“Mr Clarke, it’s good to see you,” she replied. "Thanks for staying up to meet me, I know it’s after hours.”

“Not a problem at all, I’m happy to do it. Gave me a chance to polish the floor before the Christmas rush.”

She brought him the slipper and he headed into the back to lock it in the iron safe—one of MACUSA’s stipulations to his being allowed to have it in the first place—and she perused the shelves while she waited for Finn to arrive. Although she could easily have Apparated the few miles to Gortpúca, her parents' farm, it was tradition for her to wait to be collected in the No-Maj fashion. She fingered the bright-colored linens, and selected sugarplums and marzipan for her nieces and nephews, recalling other Christmases when she’d waited here for the sound of the old pick-up truck ready to bear her home.

“How’s business?” she asked when Mr Clarke returned from the back.

“Can’t complain,” he replied, perching on his stool and watching her fondly. “England treating you well?”

“It’s been fine.” Much as she liked the kindly shopkeep, she didn’t want to unload her problems on him tonight. She started flipping through the record bin standing between the paperback novels and the latest films on tape, feeling like she’d left her mind back in the UK. “Has Seamus already been through this box?”

“He has, but I kept one hidden for you to give him.”

“Perfect. I’ll take the candy and the record then.”

He added up her purchases and she paid him in galleons instead of greenbacks. While he was wrapping everything in crisp brown paper, a flash of yellow light reflected off the gold painted letters in the frosty window. Soon the old pick-up truck was idling outside, and a tall figure emerged from it, sending the bell jingling as he ambled indoors.

The new-comer was careful to stomp the snow off his work boots before venturing from the welcome rug, and his sharp blue eyes were shining as he shook his dark brown hair out of his face. He wore it just long enough to bother their sister-in-law, and he hadn’t troubled himself to slick it back with the hair pomade he favored tonight. He had acquiesced to the demands of the weather and put on his leather jacket; but he steadfastly refused the tyranny of a hat. He’d hacked off the jacket’s right sleeve at the elbow the winter that he’d lost the majority of that same arm in a job gone sour, and he liked to see who blanched at the jagged edge, and who pretended not to notice.

“You look a mess, Mira,” he pronounced after giving her a once-over.

“So do you, Finn,” she replied, leaving her packages on the counter in order to fling herself into his embrace.

He smelled of tobacco and hay, and her heart felt so warm that it hurt. When he let go of her, she could tell that he was blinking back tears, and he brushed past her, gathering her packages like he didn’t want her to see.

“Let’s get you home. It’s late and Mama’s not going to go to bed before she sees you.”

“Fine by me. Goodnight, Mr Clarke.”

“G’night Miranda. G’night Finn,” the shopkeeper called after them.

The air was cold and heavy, and the clouds were hanging low over the quiet downtown, reflecting the lights from the street lamps and promising snow. Miranda climbed up into the passenger seat, slinging her bag into the back and buckling in out of long habit. The inside of the truck was warm enough that she cranked down her window, lighting a cigarette and letting her arm dangle as Finn pulled out onto the empty road. The Christmas lights in the store windows and winding along the lampposts thrilled her now just as much as they had when she’d been a little girl, and she watched them flash by until they were out on the country roads, looping away from town.

“I missed you, Finn,” she said, glancing over at his lanky form lit by the glow of the dashboard.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied.

There were many words hanging between them; and they knew them all by rote. Miranda reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the cab as they flew through the night.

_“That old fashioned Christmas is a sweet memory, except for all the Christmas that you weren't there with me…”_

*****

Gortpúca clung to the one group of hills interrupting the miles upon miles of flat Kansas farmland. She was bounded by a forest to the north and a river to the south. Her cattle pastures and horse runs were scattered over the lowlands, while the house and the outbuildings claimed the high. By the time Finn parked the truck in the carport near the brick farmhouse, the snow was falling lightly; adding to the piles already covering the frozen earth. Miranda was barely out the door when a pair of golden retrievers rushed her; jumping and barking wildly as she attempted to pet both of them at once.

“Down Failinis! Down Banshee!” she ordered, but she was laughing too hard for either beast to take her seriously. Defeated, she knelt down between them; scratching behind their ears and accepting kisses from their eager tongues.

Finn whistled sharply, and the dogs sat long enough for Miranda to regain her feet and start towards the house. After a few steps, the delighted animals came bounding behind, their nails clicking on the hardwood floors of the entryway as they came into the kitchen by the backdoor. The lights were dimmed to a soft glow, and the breakfast table was set with hot cocoa, clementines, and cheese. Walls were hung with garlands of fresh holly, there was chicken stock bubbling away on the back burner of the range, and Mama was putting the last touches on the marinade for the roast they’d eat later in the day.

“Everything looks just right, Mama,” Miranda breathed, wrapping her arms around the shorter woman and savoring the smell and the warmth of home.

“It does now,” Monica replied, hugging her daughter fiercely. “How was your trip?”

“Fine. Fast. It’s going to be a long day. As far as my body’s concerned it’s eight in the morning.”

The three of them sat down at the table together, helping themselves to plates of food and mugs of cocoa. Miranda swore she could feel the house enfolding her in its protective circle as though she’d never left.

“Please sleep whenever you need to,” Monica said.

“I will. I’m good at catnaps, remember?”

“I do. You take after your father that way. I’ve never been able to nap myself.”

Miranda patiently worked at the peel of a clementine, trying to bring it off in one spiraling strip. “Is Papa working tonight?”

“He is. But he shouldn’t have to do much for the rest of the time you’re here. Patrick’s with him, too.”

“That’s good. Which Mass are we going to?”

“The late one. And then Patrick and the girls will come over for the afternoon. And everyone will be here on Christmas Day.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Monica stifled a yawn and ruffled Miranda’s hair. “I’m going to head to bed now that you’re here. Do you need anything before I do?”

“No, I’m good. See you in the morning.”

She kissed both of her children goodnight and the stairs creaked softly as she went up to bed. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, and Finn and Miranda sat quietly together, soaking up each other’s presence.

“You should get some sleep too, Finn,” Miranda said at last.

“I will when I want to,” he replied. “Besides, I hear you’ve got a lot to tell me.”

“I guess I do. What do you want me to start with? The vampires or the wizards?”

“The wizards. Mama’s been going on and on about some professor you’ve been seeing on the sly. Says he’s saved your sorry hide more than once.”

Miranda’s heart sank. “Oh, him.”

“Yeah, him.” Finn took a drink from his mug, and his shrewd eyes glinted at her over the rim. “Why didn’t he come with you?”

Leave it to Finn to go for the jugular. “He’s busy.”

“So busy he can’t be bothered to meet your people for a day or two?”

She shifted in her chair and kept her hands occupied peeling another clementine. “I didn’t really ask him to come. I didn’t think he needed to be subjected to a family Christmas at this point in the proceedings.”

Finn let her excuses hang in the air until they sounded like the paper tigers that they were.

“What’s he like?”

Her cheeks were starting to get hot. “He’s an ass.”

“Figures. What’s his name again?”

“Severus Snape.”

He snorted. “Wizards have some ridiculous names.”

“I like it. It suits him.” She wished she didn’t sound so defensive, and she let out her breath in relief when Finn took mercy on her and turned the topic.

“How long are you staying?”

“I have to go back early on St Stephen’s Day. I’ve got an appointment at St. Mungo’s and a job later that night.”

“You never stop, do you?”

“Nope. It’s the Rose way.”

He plucked a clementine off the platter, working it until the peel snaked off in a neater spiral with his one hand than Miranda could manage with two; and he flipped half of the segments to Miranda with a flick of his thumb. She caught them easily, and reflected that clementines always tasted better this way.

“I was thinking I’d come back with you,” he said, his casual expression daring her to contradict him.

“You were?” She raised her eyebrows; this brother wasn’t one to travel.

“Yeah. I’ve never been to England. And if you’re thinking of setting up shop there, it’s probably worth a look.”

Her defenses snapped back into place. “I wouldn’t say I’m setting up shop.”

“No? You been there almost two years,” he said pointedly. What would you call it?”

“I’d call it a good business decision. There’s a lot of work there.”

“And _Severus Snape_.” Finn adopted a foppish posture as he lisped through the name. Miranda kicked him under the table for his trouble.

“Fine. Come if you’re coming. It’ll be fun.”

“Glad you agree, cause you didn’t have a choice.”

“Whatever. But you aren’t tagging along on any of the jobs. Things are hot over there right now.”

“Why am I not surprised?” He stretched like a cat and rolled out of his chair, kissing her on the top of her head with a gentleness that was at odds with his sharp exterior. “I’m gonna hit the hay. See you when the sun’s up.”

“Night Finn. Sleep well.”

She lingered in the kitchen for a long time, petting the dogs and resting in the quiet. The clock struck the next hour before she got up to do the dishes. Too restless for sleep, she wandered into the parlor, admiring the naked fir tree that awaited the frenzy of decorating that the next days would bring. The fire was nearly burnt out, but she coaxed it back to life with another log and a quick charm before curling up in her father’s favorite chair. Banshee laid down at her feet and promptly went to sleep, and Miranda stared into the fire, putting her decisions on trial in a way that she rarely bothered to do.

She knew that, if she had asked him earlier, or if she’d pressed the matter, Severus would have come with her. Much as he liked to snipe at her, she had a sneaking suspicion that he would do almost anything to please her, and that knowledge chilled her to the bone. She hadn’t asked for his heart—and she was trying not to break it—but she knew the prognosis was grim at best.

She could bluff with a pair of deuces as well as any Rose—but when you’re up against a Royal Flush, you’ve got to know when to fold.

*****

Narcissa Malfoy’s ability to maintain a stiff upper lip never ceased to amaze Severus. She was the embodiment of the unruffled hostess tonight, blond hair tidy, dress robes pressed, an expression of gracious solicitude for her guests' comfort on her face. When he saw her this way, it was sometimes hard to remember that day when she’d thrownherself at his feet in anguish for her son.

That same son was sitting at the foot of the table, sullenly refusing to contribute anything to the conversation beyond a sneer or a monosyllable. The fish was superb though, and Narcissa had apparently troubled herself to read the latest issue of _The Potions Journal._ She was feigning an interest in the retrospective on Nadia Angouleme so well that Severus almost believed her sincere.

“Of course, Nadia took umbrage with the _Journal_ for implying that she was living in complete retirement,” he concluded.

“I quite understand,” Narcissa replied. “I would certainly have wished for the _Journal_ to refrain from painting me as being firmly in my dotage if I were in her place.”

Bellatrix scoffed loudly. “Really, Cissy, don’t you think the four of us should be discussing something more important than magazine articles?”

“I would never presume to dictate the dinner conversation; however I had thought that we all might desire this evening to be filled with recreation rather than business. Draco only returned home from school on Saturday, after all, and the Holidays are short this year.”

Before Bellatrix could offer an opinion on the state of the Holidays, Severus stole the conversation away from her.

“However short they may be, a reprieve from the students is always welcome,” he said wryly. “Although Horace has seized the opportunity to conscript me into inventorying the potions supplies.”

“One would think you have enough to do teaching the DADA classes,” Narcissa observed sympathetically.

“I would agree with you, however Horace had other plans.” Severus paused long enough for the house elves to scurry through the room, changing the fish course for the Beef Wellington before he continued. “Horace was concerned that someone was pinching hemlock from the store cabinet, but he did not wish to make any accusations without being reasonably sure of the offense.”

He let his eyes fall on Draco, and the boy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. If Narcissa understood the implications of the moment - and he did not think her so dense that she would fail to grasp them - she did not show it.

“How disturbing,” she said. “What did you conclude?”

“There was a mistake in the ledger, nothing more,” he replied. “I will say that I am pleased to have the privilege of confining my potions work to my own office and my private stores at last.”

“It must be a relief for you to experiment without being bothered by the students, sir,” Draco said, breaking his silence with a pointed barb.

Severus raised an eyebrow at the boy. “Indeed it is. And I, unlike Horace, am sure to protect my store cabinet with the Slytherin password.”

It was heavy-handed, and Severus covered his grimace at his own bluntness by indulging in the excellent dinner. But he did catch the glimmer of a smirk that crossed Draco’s face, and he doubted that he would have to concern himself further with covering the boy’s tracks, at least as far as Horace Slughorn was concerned. Merlin, he hated it when Miranda was right. It made her insufferable.

Bellatrix would be denied no longer, and she launched into a diatribe against the current Ministry and Wizard culture at large. She was as dull as she was passionate, and Severus allowed his mind to drift from the conversation to Miranda in the bosom of her family. As he imagined the bustle his lover was no doubt surrounded by, he was once again surprised by the strength of his urge to join her there. Had he gone, he would surely be suffering from a migraine by now; but even that would be preferable to this evening’s strained play-acting. It was not so much that he disliked Narcissa’s company; he simply wanted to be wherever Miranda was with a desire that shamed him with its strength.

When the crêpes Suzette had taken the place of the empty dinner plates, Severus pulled his mind back to the room and attempted to divine a subject that would derail Bellatrix’s harping. He was debating the idea of inquiring after her husband, when one of the cut-glass doors to the dining room flew open with a violence that caused it to crash into the wall behind it. The four of them shot to their feet immediately, and Severus’s wand was in his hand before he registered the Dark Lord, gliding over the marble floor like Death come to collect his due. Nagini slithered in after him, her scales rippling and twisting to hypnotic effect. Severus, Draco, and Bellatrix immediately fell to their knees where they stood, bowing their heads, and allowing Narcissa, as acting head of house, to speak first.

“My Lord,” Narcissa said, dipping into a deep curtsy before him, “you honor my house with your presence.”

“Do I?” Voldemort’s high voice dripped with irony, and Severus could not stop himself from tensing in response.

Narcissa did not waver in voice or body. “Would you care to eat? It would be the work of a moment to bring dinner for you.”

Without releasing any of them from their obeisance, the Dark Lord circled the group, letting the hem of his robes brush against them as he passed. Nagini lagged behind, swaying drunkenly from side to side, her black tongue testing the air. Suddenly she darted under the table, snatching the blue-furred Russian cat hiding underneath, and swallowing her whole. Severus heard Narcissa cough softly, and he remembered how Lucius had gone on and on for months about that feline and how he was going to surprise his wife with it for her birthday.

“How good of you to offer, Narcissa. Nagini, as you can see, is happy to take you at your word,” Voldemort commented, completing his circuit to stand before Lucius’s disgraced wife. He put the tip of his wand under her chin, guiding her to stand. “I think I will join you, after all.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

He kept his wand beneath her chin for another moment, and then withdrew, allowing her to see to the mundane business of conjuring another chair, and summoning a house elf for a repeat of dinner. When all was ready, they gathered again at the table; with Voldemort accepting Narcissa’s place at the head of it, and Draco sequestering himself between his mother and aunt, that Narcissa might take his place at the foot. Voldemort ate with surprising gusto and paltry manners while Bellatrix gazed at him adoringly, and the other three kept their expressions as neutral as possible. Even Draco, new to this game of hiding his thoughts, presented as blank a mask as could be expected of one so young, and with so much to lose.

“What a comfortable party this is,” Voldemort said, picking his teeth with his dinner knife. “To think I might have missed it.”

Narcissa could not ignore this prompt. “I beg your pardon, my Lord. I had not thought…”

“I realize that you did not think, dear Narcissa. Such a gathering of my faithful friends—how could I wish to miss it?” His red eyes flickered in the candlelight. “Or, perhaps you intended to discuss matters without my knowledge.”

“We would never do such a thing, my Lord,” Bellatrix insisted fiercely.

“No? That remains to be seen.”

Voldemort held Narcissa’s gaze for a painfully long time, and she gasped softly, sinking back in her chair when he turned his eyes to Draco. The boy put on a brave face, but soon he was trembling and clinging to the edge of the table.

“Tut, tut, my child,” Voldemort chided. “Aunty Bella said you were her best student. How disappointing. But what is this—you’re angry—with Severus. What has he done? Don’t bother hiding; that meager defense will not shield you, and it will hurt more if you resist.”

“Let him in, Draco,” Bellatrix ordered. “I didn’t teach you Occlumency so that you could hide things from _him._ ”

The boy put his chin up, and Severus could see him bracing himself for another assault, but the Dark Lord broke eye contact, leaving Draco to collapse like a marionette with its strings cut.

“I do not wish it to be said that I never consider the needs of my followers,” Voldemort said solicitously, but Severus knew better than to trust the sudden change of demeanor. “Of course you would want the company of the Potions Master to while away your lonely hours when your loving husbands are languishing in prison.”

Bellatrix made a sound of disgust, and Narcissa kept her eyes on her hands in her lap. Severus was hard at work shuffling his mind into an order fit for the Dark Lord to see, but he was having difficulty bringing it under control. Voldemort’s eyes drifted over to his, and he tensed for the invasion. Miranda was being especially stubborn tonight; flashes of her scent and her smile kept breaking across the fore of his mind like lighting across a summer sky. But the time he spent cloaking them in memories of Lily left him vulnerable to Albus’s secrets springing up like mushrooms after a storm. Given a choice between the two, he would have to leave Miranda to fend for herself and focus on keeping his allegiance to the Dark Lord crystal clear. Perhaps he would not care to waste time upon the women of Severus’s fantasy world. Perhaps he would not notice how desperately Severus wished he were ensconced in a Muggle farm half a world away.

“Leave us Severus. I have nothing to say to you tonight,” Voldemort said at last, dismissing the professor like an unwanted servant without bothering to enter the younger man’s mind at all.

“As you wish, my Lord,” Severus replied, rising from his chair and bowing low to the ground before taking his leave of the company, his hands shaking as his relief crashed through him.

Voldemort started talking again as though Severus were no longer present. “Narcissa, I trust that you will be pleased to know that I have decided to make Malfoy Manor my new residence.”

“We are honored beyond our deserving, my Lord,” Narcissa replied.

“And now, Draco, I think it is time we discuss your lack of progress, and how we might encourage you to do better.”

Even Narcissa’s practiced calm could not withstand the _Crucio_ the Dark Lord cast upon her next. Her screams followed Severus out of the Manor, and he kept his pace unhurried, that they might lacerate his spirit. There was nothing he could do to help her now; interfering would only inspire the Dark Lord to dole out the punishment with a heavier hand.

But he cursed himself for a coward all the same.

*****

By afternoon on Christmas Eve, Rachel had given up trying to put Maggie down for her nap. The busy seven-month-old was far too excited, somehow sensing that it was not a day for trivial things like schedules. She was sitting on the shag rug in the living room, playing with a brightly painted peg doll Nativity set while Rachel hurried to put the last ornaments on the tree; guiding them into place with careful wand flicks. The Nativity set had been meant to be a present for Christmas Day, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The arms of the tree were too full to hold anything more, and Rachel stepped back to admire her handiwork. Maggie was still engrossed in her project, and Rachel was weighing out the likelihood that the new toy would occupy her little one long enough for her to make some afternoon tea, when a knock at the front door interrupted her musings. She scooped up Maggie, who protested briefly, clinging to the gray donkey and the shepherd girl in in the pink pinafore as they made for the door.

“Narcissa! It’s been so long. How are you?” Rachel said, balancing Maggie on her hip while she opened the door.

The pale witch gave her a polite smile, but her eyes seemed miles away as she drifted into the kitchen, murmuring, “I’m sorry to disturb you. Is it nap time? I should have sent an owl before I came.”

“You’re not disturbing me at all,” Rachel insisted. “Maggie’s refusing a nap today, so as long as you don’t mind if she starts to fuss, we’d love to have some company.”

Narcissa absently stroked one of Maggie’s plump arms and the child dropped the shepherdess doll in order to catch hold of an elegant finger. “She’s grown so much since I saw her in May.”

“Would you mind holding her while I make tea?” Rachel asked, studying the other witch’s pinched forehead.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Narcissa replied, taking the child eagerly. Maggie started to babble and soon exchanged Narcissa’s finger for a lock of her shining blond hair.

Rachel sent the the shepherdess back into the living room with a flick of her wand, and set the water boiling for tea with a second flick. A quick rummage in the icebox produced a collection of sushi, and there was an extra tin of ginger snaps that she thought she could sacrifice to the afternoon. Narcissa was fully absorbed in a game of peek-a-boo with Maggie, and it wasn’t until the tea things were placed in the living room, and Maggie set up in her high chair with some biscuits to gum, that Rachel was able to converse properly with her unexpected guest.

“I’m so glad you came by today,” Rachel said when she and Narcissa were settled on the sofa. “I’ve missed our teas.”

“So have I,” Narcissa replied. “I didn’t want to be bothersome. I remember being so tired when Draco was a baby.”

“I am tired, but it’s getting better.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Silence fell, and Rachel was debating the best way to bring up the topic that must be pressing heavily on Narcissa’s heart. She didn’t want to pry, but she didn’t want to seem indifferent either.

“Is Draco home for the Holidays?”

“He is. He’s at his friend Vincent’s for the day, so I thought I’d finish some shopping in Diagon Alley.”

“It must have been so crowded.”

“It was. I’m happy to have some quiet here.”

Maggie dropped one of her biscuits and started wailing loudly, and Rachel’s cheeks pinked as she hurried to send it back to the tray with a wave of her wand. This did not please the little one, who refused to be consoled until she was released from the prison of her highchair to nurse at her mother’s breast.

“What was that you were saying about quiet?” Rachel asked, embarrassed.

“She’s perfect,” Narcissa reassured her. “Every day felt endless when Draco was Maggie’s age. He started crawling and walking so early, and he wanted to explore everything. I spent most of my days trying to keep him from hurting himself, and I would be so exhausted at the end of them. Then I blinked, and suddenly he was nearly grown and thinking he doesn’t need protecting any longer.”

“Maybe he does think he needs protecting, and he’s afraid to show it,” Rachel said carefully. When she saw how bright Narcissa’s eyes became, she decided to take the plunge. “I’m so sorry about Lucius.”

“Are you?”

“Of course! It must be terrible for you and Draco to have him in Azkaban. I wouldn’t wish that place on my worst enemy, let alone my friend’s husband.”

Maggie had fallen asleep at the breast, and Rachel gently unlatched the child and adjusted her clothing. Narcissa was watching her with a closed, calculating expression, and Rachel wondered if the English witch were in more trouble than she was letting on.

“Thank you for that. I have been somewhat wanting for friends of late.”

“Then please don’t forget to count the Lees among their number. If you need anything, you only have to ask.”

“That means more to me than you realize.”

They sat together for a few moments in a silence that was heavy with questions that Rachel was too circumspect to ask. It seemed that Narcissa was weighing out the risks of saying more, but she set down her teacup and saucer on the coffee table without venturing any further into what might have been an enlightening conversation.

“I should be going,” she said. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Anytime, and I mean it,” Rachel replied. She carefully laid Maggie on the sofa and cast a Shield Charm to keep her from rolling onto the floor while she slept. “Let me see you to the door.”

They passed through the kitchen in silence, and Narcissa hovered on the threshold, seeming uncertain.

“Would you and Draco like to come over for dinner on Christmas Day? We’d love to have you,” Rachel offered.

“Thank you, no. I’m afraid we are otherwise engaged,” Narcissa replied distractedly.

“I understand. I hope you’ll come back for tea sooner next time.”

“I’m afraid I can’t make any promises about that.”

There was something ominous to that answer, and Rachel put a hand on Narcissa’s shoulder, wishing there were more she could do.

“Narcissa,” she asked carefully, “are you safe? Because I meant what I said. If you ever needed help, Aaron and I would do everything in our power to give it to you.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened and her lips parted, and Rachel held her breath as she waited for the other woman’s answer.

“I appreciate your concern. Please be assured that Draco and I are quite safe,” she replied calmly. "Good afternoon, Rachel.”

“Good afternoon, Narcissa.”

Rachel had a difficult time tidying the flat from the last-minute decorating and the impromptu tea after her guest had departed. Her mind was working furiously, turning over their conversation, searching it for clues. She had a strong suspicion that Narcissa was lying, or at least not telling her the whole truth. After the third time she’d washed the same teacup, she abandoned the sink to curl up on the sofa next to her sleeping baby. The worries of a new mother suddenly seemed trivial when compared to the worries that the mother of a grown child faced. Now it was easy to keep her daughter safe; but one day she would be grown, and Rachel would not be able to protect her from harm with a kiss and a Shield Charm.

It was a humbling thought, to say the least.

*****

“ _Nowell, Nowell, Nowell, Nowell sing we loud! God today hath poor folks raised and cast a-down the proud!_ ”

The spacious parlor in the farmhouse at Gortpúca was ablaze with life late in the evening on Christmas Day. The space was decked with holly and evergreen, and candles burned in the window, lighting travelers home. The fresh-cut fir tree presided over the whole, bearing all of the ornaments that Monica had collected through the years. It was a charming mishmash of boughten trinkets, blown glass, multicolored lights, and handmade treasures that ran the gamut from the whimsical efforts from childhood, to the smoothly executed carvings of Conor and Seamus.

The turkey had been eaten, the plum pudding flamed, the presents all opened and admired. A merry tumult of song, lead by Conor with his trusty fiddle and Seamus with his custom-made guitar, reigned over the din of conversation and laughter. Finn was in an armchair, cradling Anna and Patrick’s youngest girl, who was somehow managing to sleep through the chaos, and the dogs were panting at his feet, worn out from the madness. Miranda and Anna, her favorite sister-in-law, were dancing with the children, spinning round and round like tops over the kilim rug. There was a collision at the end of the carol, and Miranda went down under a pile of her older nieces and nephews, sending the company into shrieks of laughter.

“ _Levicorpus!”_ she shouted gamely, lifting Chiara, the second eldest of Anna and Patrick’s brood, up by her ankle and dropping her on the sofa with the counter spell.

This only increased the riot, with children crying out for their turns and Anna spotting them as they rolled off the sofa and out of the way for another go. Miranda could feel her shoulder start to pinch as she fought to keep up with the demands of her kinfolk, but Severus wasn’t there to chastise her, so she forced her magic a little and let the laughter wash over her in a warm, silvery wave.

“Who wants cookies?” called Monica, braving the storm with an enormous tray.

“Me!” was the unanimous response, and the children dashed towards the coffee table, descending on the cookies like a swarm of locusts.

“I’m sorry that Patrick had to run off,” said Anna as she helped her daughter Veronica manage the mug of cocoa and the peanut blossom cookie the child was clutching. Veronica was a beautiful girl of five, with her mother’s dark eyes and hair.

“I know how it goes. Work doesn’t stop just because it’s Christmas,” Miranda replied, taking little John on her knee, and holding his mug for him while he gnawed on a jam-filled pastry that was so big it required two of his tiny hands to hold. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

“He’s going to try to be home by midnight. That’ll give you a little time before you have to go back to England.”

Miranda let her eyes drift around the room, drinking in the sight of the family she’d missed. “I wish I could stay longer. But the Healers at St. Mungo’s are drill sergeants.”

“Good. You need a firm hand.”

“Don’t all the Roses need a firm hand?”

“Patrick certainly does!”

“Thank you for the chess set Aunt Miranda,” said Brendan, the second oldest of Seamus and Susan’s progeny. Tall for a nine-year-old, and studious, he had been one of the most excited to see his aunt come home at last.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it,” Miranda replied.

“Do you think we could play before you go back?”

“Of course! Why don’t we set it up in the kitchen, it’ll be easier to think in there.”

“Great! I’ll go get my set.”

He trotted off to his father’s old bedroom, where the coats and sundries were being stored, to gather his present, and Miranda waded through the mass of children with John on her hip and Chiara trailing behind. Soon John was perched on a chair before a fresh plate of cookies with Chiara close at hand to prevent his curious fingers from upsetting his older brother’s game, and Brendan was setting up the polished wood figures that Miranda had labored over during her convalescence. Susan, a woman so beautiful it hurt your teeth to look at her, was at the sink, avoiding the madhouse in the next room by burying herself in the dirty dishes.

“You’re going back tonight?” she asked without looking up from her work.

“I am. I’m sorry I’ll miss your dinner tomorrow,” Miranda replied.

Susan shrugged. “I’m impressed you managed to tear yourself away even for this long. I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming back at all.”

Chiara made a face at her aunt’s sharp words, and Brendan’s freckled cheeks pinked at their tone.

“I’ll always come back, no need to worry about that,” Miranda said evenly. “You can leave the dishes too, if you like. I’d be happy to finish them off when the party’s wound down a little more.”

“I don’t mind doing them. We get along fine all by our No-Maj selves, you know.”

“I do know.” She turned her full attention to the children at her elbows, and left Susan to stew alone. “Alright Brendan, your move.”

*****

As the clock drew near to midnight, the children were finally tucked into their sleeping bags in the upstairs parlor for a Christmas sleepover, and Susan had gone home to prepare for the next day’s festivities. Anna, Monica, and Conor had said their goodbyes to Miranda and headed to bed as well; and Miranda was sitting with Seamus and Finn before a dying fire, waiting for Patrick’s return. Seamus’s fingers drifted over the strings of his guitar, strumming idly while the three of them watched the embers glow. None of them spoke; and none of them needed to.

When they heard the sound of a truck pulling up next to the house, the siblings gathered their boots and outerwear, meeting Patrick, the eldest of their number, as he came into the kitchen. The spitting image of their father, he stamped snow from his boots, but didn’t venture beyond the welcome mat in the doorway.

“How cold is it?” asked Miranda, coming to meet him.

“Not too bad,” Patrick replied, chucking her chin lightly with his fist. “The wind’s let up, and you can see every star in the sky tonight.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Come on, you lazy bums, gimmie a hand with these,” said Seamus as he attempted to balance mugs, a whiskey bottle, and a tin of cookies.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Finn replied, swooping in to snatch the whiskey bottle while Miranda took the mismatched mugs.

“What time do you have to be at Clarke’s?” Patrick asked as they headed out into the starlit night.

“Not ’til three. I hate getting him up, though. MACUSA is so obnoxious about scheduling,” Miranda replied.

“You know he don’t mind.”

“How was our little friend tonight?” Seamus asked.

“Same,” Patrick shrugged. “I think we can wait until the morning. Let the fella have one more Christmas at home before we haul him in.”

The waning moon soared through the sky, flanked by her celestial cohort, and the snow crunched under their feet as they tromped over the length of Gortpúca. The other inhabitants were all abed, animal and human alike; although they could hear the lonely yipping of a coyote in the distance from time to time. The cemetery was bright when they reached it, nestled in a grove of naked apple trees. The gravestones huddled together in meandering rows, and each one was decorated with snow-dusted holly. They stepped lightly over the path that their parents had tread earlier that day, until they reached a bench facing the lone marker in an open patch of snow. Here Miranda drew her wand, conjuring blankets and casting warming charms as she and her brothers settled down on the bench and wrapped up tight. She charmed the cookie tin to hover before them, in arms reach of everyone, and Finn poured measures of whiskey into the mugs as she passed them around.

“ _In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone._ ”

Seamus intoned their fallen brother Columba’s favorite carol, and the others joined him by the end of the verse. They had spent far too many Christmases without Columba, and this graveyard visit was but a shadow of the joy they had experienced when their family had been whole. But in this vale of tears, sometimes a shadow is the best you can do.

A heavy silence fell for a time after the carol was over, and the whiskey burned through the tightness in Miranda’s throat. Her eyes were fixed on the Celtic cross and the _Fiat Voluntas Tua_ carved into Columba’s headstone; for she knew that if she looked at her earthly brothers, she would find their eyes wet with tears.

“I think Brendan might be like you,” Seamus said ruefully, as though hesitating to disturb the quiet.

“Really? What has he done?” Miranda replied, unsurprised.

“Little things. His lost books and toys always seem to show up in a place you know you’ve already looked for them. And last week Susan got rid of this ratty t-shirt he loved to wear. I saw her put it in the trash right before the garbage truck came to take it away. Come Monday, Brendan pulled it out of his drawer, like it’d never been gone.”

“That’s auspicious. Susan won’t be happy about it though.”

“You leave Susan to me. She’ll be fine once she gets used to the idea.”

If anyone could handle Susan, it was Seamus. “I’m sure she will. What do you think about it?”

Seamus shrugged. “It’ll be an adventure, that’s for sure.”

Miranda finished her whiskey and balanced the mug on her thigh while she pulled her cigarette case out of her pocket. Finn immediately snatched it out of her hand, his eyes glinting deviously.

“Hey, I was going to share. No need to be grabby,” she grumbled good-naturedly.

“Never mind that, what have we here?” Finn mocked.

The sphinx mosaic was rearranging itself into a coded message, and Miranda groaned inwardly, even as her cheeks grew hot.

“Give that back!” She made a grab at the case, but Finn easily held it out of her reach, craning his neck to make out the message.

“What is it?” Seamus asked eagerly, while Patrick looked on, obviously entertained by the shenanigans.

“Don’t look now, boys, it’s from _Severus Snape._ ” Finn lisped the professor’s name in a high-pitched sing-song, drawing snorts of amusement from his brothers.

“Oooo,” Seamus said, “What does he say? Does he miss is widdle wove bird?”

“Ahem.” Finn cleared his throat dramatically, and Miranda crossed her arms, indignant but resigned. “ _Miranda, Miranda, wherefore art thou, Miranda?_ ”

“It does _not_ say that!” Miranda snapped, lunging for the case again.

Finn swung over the back of the bench, dancing out of her reach, but Patrick intercepted him and plucked the case out of his brother’s hand.

“Give it back, Patrick,” Miranda demanded, but Patrick ignored her, studying the message.

“He wants to know what time you want him to come over, and to wish you Happy Christmas. And he misses you. And damn, but he writes like he’s got a stick up his ass,” Patrick reported.

“Just because he has a decent vocabulary and doesn’t have to cuss every other word doesn’t mean he has a stick up his ass,” Miranda countered defensively.

Patrick flipped open the case, distributing cigarettes which Seamus lit with a rose-embossed Zippo lighter. He surrendered the case when he came to Miranda, and she confirmed the message before quickly returning her property to the safety of her pocket.

“Aren’t you gonna answer him, Sis?” teased Seamus.

“He can wait a few minutes,” she replied, her face still hot.

“Cold.”

“Can’t wait to meet him,” Finn said devilishly.

“You’re going to hate him,” she observed tartly.

“Yep, reckon I will.”

“Look, it’s not serious.”

“Whatever you say, Sis,” Seamus said, ending the debate. “Finn, while you’re over there, there’s a record I need you to pick up for me.”

The conversation mercifully abandoned the topic of Miranda’s thorny love-life in favor of the much more important one of music. From there it was a short skip to discussing the children, and from there the only place left to go was business. By the end of their second round of cigarettes, the cookie tin was empty and the warming charms were beginning to fade.

Miranda vanished the blankets and Seamus refilled the mugs. The four of them gathered close around Columba’s headstone, and Patrick led the toast.

“Merry met, and merry part, I drink thee with all my heart,” he said.

“Sláinte,” his siblings replied, clinking their mugs and sipping deeply, before pouring out a libation over their sleeping brother’s grave.

Without her having to ask, Seamus emptied the whiskey bottle into Miranda’s waiting mug. She cradled it close to her heart as she broke away from her brothers, padding over the snow to a pair of matched headstones in the row beyond. These two were also decorated with holly and evergreen, and she crouched down before them.

_David Nathaniel Clearwater_   
_b. April 25, 1965_   
_d. May 1, 1985_   
_More precious was the light in your eyes_   
_than all the roses in the world_

_Isaac David_   
_August 21, 1985_   
_His eye is on the sparrow_

She pulled a little wooden bird from her pocket, the last of the toys that she’d whittled during those dark November days, and placed it carefully on the raised edge of Isaac’s marker. As she murmured a sticking charm to prevent it from falling over, or being snatched away by a curious creature, her heart turned to lead in her breast.

“I miss you,” she said to David’s stone, unable to bear the sight of their son’s name heartlessly inscribed in granite for the weather to beat into dust.

The snow melted in spirals as she poured out a libation for her dead. Her limbs were stiff when she pushed herself up from the ground, and the snow stung her hands where she’d touched it. Finn was at her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her and bringing her back to the here and now.

“It’s time, Mira,” he said gently.

Her throat was so tight that it hurt to talk. “Let’s go then.”

The temperature had dropped as they made their way back over the empty fields. Miranda’s cheeks grew raw, and her breath floated before her in white puffs. She didn’t bother to look back, knowing that she would find neither David’s nor Isaac’s spirits waiting to comfort her.

They had crossed over long ago, and taken her heart thither, with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gortpúca: Pooka field. Pookas are spirits from Irish folklore that bring luck, both good and bad.
> 
> The song quoted playing on the radio is “Christmas With You” by Johnny Cash.
> 
> St Stephen’s Day is December 26th.
> 
> The carol that the Roses are singing in the parlor is “Masters in this Hall” by William Morris.
> 
> The carol that Miranda and her brothers sing in the graveyard is “In the Bleak Midwinter” by Christina Rossetti.
> 
> Fiat Voluntas Tua: Thy will be done (from the Our Father prayer)
> 
> The toasts are both traditional Irish ones. Sláinte literally means health or safe.
> 
> The epitaph on David’s grave is from the poem “Dirge without Music” by Edna St Vincent Millay:
> 
> I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.  
> So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:  
> Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned  
> With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
> 
> Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.  
> Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.  
> A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,  
> A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.
> 
> The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—  
> They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled  
> Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.  
> More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
> 
> Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave  
> Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;  
> Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.  
> I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
> 
> The epitaph on Isaac’s grave is from the hymn of the same name; the full line runs:
> 
> His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.


	4. The Victory of Pyrrhus

“You’ve done very well today, Miss Miranda,” pronounced Healer A’isha as she ran her wand over Miranda’s body and studied the translucent diagnostic image that superimposed itself on Miranda’s skin as she did. “I am very pleased with what I see here.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without Severus dogging me,” replied Miranda with a wry smile, trying not to look at the sickening sight of her color-coded internal organs on display for the room to see. The examination table she was lying on was making her shiver, even as the acrid smell of the hospital room made her stomach churn. Severus seemed to sense her discomfort, silently taking one of her trembling hands and lacing his fingers through hers while the Healer did her poking and prodding. Like many people, Miranda hated anything resembling a hospital, and it bothered her how quickly being in one reduced her to a mass of overwrought nerves.

“Yes, and a terrible patient you were too,” Severus observed. By the glint in his eye, she suspected he was baiting her on purpose—he knew her well enough to understand that an angry Miranda was more grounded than a frightened one.

“Hmm…” Healer A’isha hummed. Internal examination completed, she vanished the grotesque spell and lifted the hem of Miranda’s robe in order to examine the scars sprawling over the American’s abdomen. Although they were still an angry shade of red, the skin was tightly closed over the wounds. One more set of battle souvenirs for her to remember her adventures by. 

“Well, what do you think?” Miranda asked, trying and failing to keep the eagerness out of her voice. 

“I think that you may resume light duties tonight. But if you receive any further injuries, I expect you to come straight here. The wounds are closed, but still inflamed by the căpcăun venom.”

“If it would be more prudent for her to continue to avoid active duty, perhaps another fortnight of rest would be advisable,” Severus said.

Miranda shot him a glare, but he was looking over her head at the Healer and avoiding her eyes completely.

“No, I think we can let you try your wings, Miss Miranda.” She pulled a roll of parchment out of her lime green robes and waved her wand over it. A florid script enumerating a list of potions and balms appeared on it, and Miranda was pleased to see that this new regimen was significantly shorter than the one she was currently subject to. “Please take this down to the apothecary, and wait for him to fill the order. We’ll cut back your healing potion to twice daily, and I’ve ordered a different balm for your scars that will not require bandaging. You understand the magical and physical exercises you should perform, and also the limits you should respect?”

“I do,” Miranda said.

“Excellent. Please return in two weeks so that I may see how you do with the increased activity. If all goes well we can lengthen the time between appointments again.”

“Thank you Healer A’isha.”

“You are very welcome. Good day, Professor Severus.”

“Healer A’isha,” he returned.

The door closed softly behind the Healer, and Severus helped Miranda sit up on the edge of the narrow bed. She let her hand slide up his arm, weaving her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and he gave her half a smile before leaning down to kiss her. His thin lips were hungry on hers, coaxing sighs from her and swallowing them eagerly until she felt quite boneless in his embrace. 

“So you _did_ miss me,” she teased, surprised by the ardor of his welcome, especially since a nurse or a Healer might wander in at any moment and shame them like a pair of naughty teenagers.

“Surprising is it not?” he replied, peppering her face with feather-light kisses that made her lean towards him; aching for more satisfactory contact. “If you are not otherwise engaged, perhaps we might retire to you cabin.”

Oh, right. Her cabin. The heat that his touch had inspired in her body snuffed out and she pulled away from him, swinging over the opposite side of the table and beginning to dress with business-like efficiency.

“Well, about that,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but one of my brothers decided to come back with me.”

His shoulders tensed up a quarter-inch the way they always did when she said something that he didn’t care for.

“I see.”

“Finn wouldn’t take no for an answer. I think he wants to vet you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s the funniest thing. Even though I’m a grown woman, he still sees me as his baby sister and gets inconveniently protective at the most inopportune times.” She sat down on the edge of the bed to lace up her boots, turning her back on Severus’s pointed gaze. “Anyway, he’s back at the ranch sleeping, and I’m honestly exhausted myself. My body has no idea what time it is anymore. I was thinking I’d go back and catch some sleep before my shift with Aaron, and maybe you could mosey over to the cabin later tonight, say 10ish, and get the worst over with.”

“I see.”

The enigmatic answer snapped what was left of Miranda’s paltry patience. Between the the portkey lag and the guilt that was weighing on her over not extending a proper Christmas invitation to Severus in the first place, she was rather done-in.

“Look, you don’t have to meet him if you don’t want to,” she said angrily. “He’s not all bad. I mean, he’s an ass, but so are you. You might get along.”

Her cheeks were flaming when she stood up to face him—just in time to see a flash of pain twist his expression before he could banish it behind an impassive mask.

“As you like, Miranda,” he shrugged, feigning indifference. “I am willing to meet your brother if you wish for me to do so.”

The victory gave her no pleasure—maybe she should start kicking puppies for fun in her spare time too.

“Great. I’ll see you after work then.”

“Yes. You will.”

His response was half promise and half challenge; and she was within a hair’s breadth of allowing a casual _I love you_ to escape her lips. But she bit her tongue to trap the impish spark from escaping. 

She’d learned the hard way what came of lighting a campfire with kerosene.

*****

It should have been a pleasant night. The mercury was well above freezing, and Shoreditch was still sporting her Christmas finery; with twinkling lights and holly wrapped around every lamppost and store window. But the mist that might have made the neighborhood blur into a sugarplum fantasy sat thick and muddy like cold pea soup—unyielding, unappetizing, cloying in the lungs until one wanted to gasp for air.

“Maggie was cute as a bug at Mass yesterday,” Aaron said as he and Miranda patrolled through the abandoned streets. “Good as gold too. Didn’t make a peep until the end when she started trying to sing with the choir.”

His cheerful voice grated on Miranda’s fraying nerves. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Naw, you were right to go home. The folks must’ve been glad to see you.”

“They were. Finn even insisted on coming back for a spell.”

“That’s great! Why don’t y’all come to Mass with us on Sunday?”

Aaron’s relentless good mood was beginning to warm her. “That could work. Finn was talking about wanting to go down to Landanwg in Wales that day. Seamus is sending him on a wild goose chase after some album.”

“Landanwg? I’ve been meaning to get back down there. Best cawl on the island in my opinion, and the church is something to see.”

“Sounds like it’s settled then.”

The wind picked up and Miranda wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. She could feel her left shoulder riding high, and even the basic _Hominum_ _Revelio_ she’d used earlier in the shift had been fuzzy at best. If Aaron was aware of her struggles—and she’d be surprised if he weren’t—he was polite enough not to draw attention to them.

“I couldn’t believe the number of dresses Rachel’s mother sent for Maggie. I doubt that baby’ll wear above half of them before she grows out of the duds.”

“You made a good baby, Aaron.”

“I think so, if I do say so my…”

His voice trailed off and Miranda shivered, the hair on her arms standing on end as though some electric shock at touched her skin. Aaron’s shift from doting father to deadly Auror was instantaneous, and both of them had their wands in hand as they searched the mist for whatever foul stench had disturbed them.

“Did you hear something?” Miranda asked in a low voice.

Aaron put a finger on her arm and tapped,

NOT DO YOU HEAR SOMETHING DO YOU SMELL SOMETHING

Her fingers tensed around her alder wand, and she fancied it clung to the palm of her hand, ready to defend her to the last. Beside her, Aaron’s body was going through a set of inhuman contortions, until he dropped down on all fours and sprang into the midst, his dapper suit exchanged for the form of a massive bloodhound. He restrained himself to a sedate pace that his partner, hampered by her merely human legs might have a prayer of following, and she ran lightly after him, flicking her wand at her feet to muffle the crunch of the snow beneath her boots.

The chase led them to a residential street, lined with townhouses and matched hazelnut hedgerows. Aaron made short work digging a path through one of the bushes, and Miranda was able to push through after him without any trouble. She stopped short on the other side, where she found her friend nosing the body of a young woman, lying close on the ground with a dark haired man. The blood on the twisted corpses had barely congealed, and a juvenile thestral was boldly snaking around the bodies, eager to feast on the scent of death. Miranda stared down the sulfurous creature, and it recoiled, distrustful of a witch that was willing to meet its burning eyes. 

Aaron barked once in question, and the old rhythm of hunt and search imposed itself on Miranda’s bones. She quickly searched the bodies, discovering an unused wand, a Magical ID, and a handbag full of No-Maj paraphernalia, and shoving them into her pockets for later perusal. The wounds on their bodies were sickeningly familiar, and she wondered if this were Severus’s handiwork; or if he’d taught his signature curse to that many of his Death Eater comrades.

“He was a wizard. It looks like she was No-Maj,” Miranda murmured, digging four coins out of a pocket and placing them, one by one, over the eyes that would see no more. “Eternal rest grand unto them…”

She hit the dirt as Aaron, still in his animagus form, landed hard on her back, sheltering her from the vile green light that snaked overhead and splintered the hedge behind them. Before the bark could settle, Aaron had launched himself at their assailants, bounding towards the pair of black-clad wizards that appeared from shadows between the houses. Miranda covered the bloodhound’s charge, firing blasts of white that sizzled and sparked as they collided with the red bolts exploding from the wands of the Death Eaters. Within seconds, Aaron had brought down the taller of the two, snapping and snarling while the wizard yelped and struggled under the hound’s weight. The remaining Death Eater redoubled his attack, leaving his companion to fend for himself as he advanced on Miranda, red curses flying. 

It was a duel that would have bored her to tears six months earlier, but tonight Miranda was hard pressed to keep up with the frenzy of deadly spells, and soon she was muttering her incantations through gritted teeth. Sweat poured from her brow as she forced hex after hex, humiliated by her puny efforts. At least Severus wasn’t here to witness them.

“Fuck!” she swore, crumpling to the ground as a nasty curse caught her square in the stomach. One arm went protectively around the wound as she rolled through her fall, and she could feel the skin crackling beneath her tunic as she gasped with pain.

By the time she managed to hobble to her feet, it was over. Aaron abandoned his barely moving prize to attack Miranda’s foe, and stumbled when the Death Eater disappeared with a violent crack; reappearing an instant later at his fallen comrade’s side. Another crack and the two wizards were gone; out of range and untraceable. Aaron sniffed his way over the ground for several moments while Miranda sat back on her heels, panting and holding her injured stomach. When the southerner was satisfied with his search, he snapped up the fallen wand of the taller Death Eater and trotted to Miranda’s side. A long, low whine emanated from his throat, and he shifted back to his human form, frowning down at his friend. 

“Are you alright?” he demanded, stooping next to her. “Don’t answer that, I know you’ll lie. Just let me see where he got you.”

“Fine, I’m fine,” she protested through her panting; but she didn’t struggle when he gently pushed her back so that he could roll up the hem of her tunic and prod the blackened skin beneath.

“I’m calling Fisher and Hart, and then I’m taking you to St Mungo’s.”

She pushed him away and yanked down her tunic. “No! I’ve been there once already today. If I go back this soon, Healer A’isha will put me back on disabled and I’m not going to sit on the bench anymore!”

“Listen, you bull-headed woman, you’re barely _off_ the disabled list because you nearly _died_. You’re going.”

It was time to switch tactics. “What if I go home right now?” she cajoled. “Severus is going to be there, and he can clean up this mess as well as any Healer.”

She could almost see Aaron’s internal debate raging. “And you have to take the rest of the week off.”

“But…”

“No buts! I don’t need you putting my ass in danger because you’re trying to run before you can crawl.”

“Will you come by and tell me what you and the others find here tonight?”

“I will.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Deal.”

They spat on their palms and shook to seal the bargain, a remnant of their schoolyard days. She leaned a little harder on him than she liked as he helped her to her feet, and he did her the honor of pretending not to notice.

“Don’t worry, Mira,” he said when she was steady. “You’ll be up to speed faster than green grass through a goose. You’ve just gotta have a little patience.”

“You think?” she replied testily, giving the besmirched lawn a final look. If one more person told her to be patient, she was either going to scream, or hex the fool into next Sunday. Aaron wisely held his tongue, and she limped into the shadows to Apparate home before she could give in to the impulse.

*****

A quarter past the appointed hour was as late as Severus could force himself to arrive anywhere without breaking out in hives. He made his way up the footpath to Miranda’s cabin (he did _not_ mosey—he _never_ moseyed), well aware that it would likely be an hour or more before she would deign to appear. He’d spent the last half hour debating over whether or not he should knock rather than simply enter, as was his habit, and had at last settled on knocking—if only because it seemed imprudent to startle a man raised in a family of bounty hunters.

Three short raps brought his host to the door. Miranda’s brother was clad in ripped blue jeans (did the man not own proper clothing?) and a black t-shirt. His dark hair was sculpted into a somewhat taller version of the pompadour that Aaron favored, his sharp blue eyes reminded Severus uncomfortably of Conor Rose’s, and a cigarette dangled negligently from his lips. All this, of course, was overshadowed by the fact that the man seemed to have mislaid his right arm somewhere. Fortunately, Severus had plenty of practice maintaining an impassive expression while being subjected to unpleasant circumstances, and was able to keep his startled reaction to himself.

“Severus Snape, I presume,” the man said around his cigarette.

“Correct, Mr Rose,” Severus replied, shaking Finn’s left hand somewhat awkwardly with his right.

“That’s me. Guess you’d better come in.”

The window was thrown open to the winter night, and the fire was burning high in the fireplace to compensate. A supper of cold meat, cheese, and clementines was haphazardly set on the table, along with a tin of fanciful Christmas biscuits. There was a half-drunk Muggle beer on the counter next to a bucket holding a dozen more on ice. Several Muggle magazines littered the coffee table, and a racket the likes of which Severus had never endured shrieked from the turntable.

Charming.

“Mira ain’t back yet. You wanna beer?” Finn asked, pulling a bottle out of the bucket and passing it to Severus before he could reply.

Severus did _not_ want a beer, but he suspected the alcohol might be a necessary social lubricant in the current situation. “Thank you.”

Finn sauntered over to the table, and sprawled out on one of the chairs like an ungainly cat. Severus sat down like a proper human being, and summoned a glass from the cupboard with a silent _accio_ , pouring the dark brew into it while Finn drank directly from the bottle like his Barbarian sister. Severus took a bracing sip, and the smokey flavor pleased him more than he’d thought it would. Now if only he could drown out the caterwauling from the turntable, they might manage to feign some semblance of civilization. 

“So,” Finn said, “how’d you meet my sister?”

It begins. “She, shall we say, conscripted my aid in subduing one of her marks last summer,” Severus replied with a touch of irony.

“Obliging of you. You must’ve done a decent job if she kept you around. How long’ve you been a teacher?”

“Fifteen years.”

“That sounds God-awful. Do you like it?”

“No.” He did not like this one-way interrogation either. “I take it you are part of the Rose family business?”

Finn was not going down quietly. “Yep. You’ve done a good job, by the way.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not asking about my arm. I saw you gape at it, but most people would’ve missed that, you covered it so quick. You’ve got a decent poker face.”

“So I’m told.”

“Go ahead and ask.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.” This was worse than sparring with Miranda—all of the irritation and none of the pleasure.

“I mean, go ahead and ask about my arm. Most people are bustin’ at the seams to know.”

Severus was in no mood to give the man what he so clearly wanted. “I don’t see why I should care about any of the limbs you have managed to lose.”

Finn laughed and dropped the end of his cigarette into an empty beer bottle, while Severus took a long drink from his glass to steady his temper. Before either man could regroup for another tilt, the door banged open and Miranda limped through it, face pale, one arm wrapped around her stomach and the other moving from the wall to the sofa for balance. Both men were on their feet in an instant.

“What the hell happened to you?” Finn demanded.

“Nothing. A couple of Death Eaters,” Miranda replied, sinking down on the sofa.

Severus flexed his left arm involuntarily, and quickly closed the door as though he were concerned his fellows had followed Miranda home.

“Death Eaters?” Finn asked. “You mean those punks you were telling me about?”

“Yes. They got away, but one of them left his wand behind. Aaron and a couple of the other Aurors are going over the crime scene. We’ll catch them. It’s only a matter of time.”

“That still does not explain why you are limping,” Severus observed pointedly.

“I was getting to it.” She winced, pulling up her tunic to expose the blackened skin beneath. “I got hit in the fray. It feels like an _adusto_ , and a clumsy one at that.”

Severus thrust Finn out of the way and dropped to one knee beside her to examine the wound. Fury coursed through him, causing his fingers to tremble as he ran them over the injured skin. 

“What are you doing here?” he said angrily. “You should have gone to St Mungo’s. What was Aaron thinking, letting you come home in this condition?”

She flinched under his examination. “I’m _not_ going back; I was just there. I thought you could take care of it.”

“It’s not an option. You’re going.”

“Come on, please? It’s only a little curse; no big deal.”

Her cajoling snapped the remaining thread of his patience. “Apparently nothing short of dying is a _big_ _deal_ to you, you daft woman! Perhaps you were not paying attention to Healer A’isha this morning, but _I_ was. You were to return to the hospital _immediately_ if you suffered any further injuries. Perhaps I do not wish to be a party to any more of your reckless, juvenile behavior!”

She blinked at him, obviously surprised by his unusual outburst, and he cursed himself for losing control in front of his infuriating lover and her wretched brother. A tense silence fell over the room while Severus caught his breath. Finn, seemingly unconcerned by his sister’s condition, produced a cigarette for her and a fresh one for himself, which he lit deliberately before voicing his opinion.

“Seems to me you don’t need to go pickin’ at my sister,” the American said. “Either fix her up or don’t; but there ain’t no call to be fussin’ her like a flustered ol’ school marm.”

Severus glared at the siblings and bit back the growl that was threatening to escape his throat. How it was that Miranda managed to reduce him to this level was beyond him; and he knew that the only way he would get her to St Mungo’s now was by throwing her over her his shoulder and dragging her by force, probably after stunning her fool of a brother first. He was too angry to enjoy either fantasy, especially when he found himself storming into his lover’s potions closet to gather the supplies to tend her wounds. No wonder she treated him like her faithful cur—he was so quick to play the part it made him sick.

“Thank you, Severus, I knew I could count on you,” she said.

“I don’t want your thanks,” he bit back. She ran her fingers through his hair while he worked, and he shook off her touch like it burned him.

Finn brought over a plate of food and a fresh beer for the patient; joining her on the sofa to enjoy the evening’s entertainment of Severus the Nursemaid. Soon they were talking over his head while he applied counter-curses, balms, and dittany, coaxing the skin back to a healthy shade of pink; a servant forgotten. 

“What were the punks doing when you broke up their tea party?” Finn asked.

Miranda frowned at the piece of salami she was rolling around a mozzarella slice. “They offed a couple of people up in Shoreditch; a wizard and a No-maj woman.” 

“That’s a cryin’ shame. Remind me what those shits are up to?”

“They’re stooges for some dark wizard who wants to take over the world.”

Finn snorted. “Is that all dark wizards ever want to do?”

“They are pretty unoriginal that way, aren’t they?”

“If I were a dark wizard, I’d just want my pantry full of fixin’s, my fridge full of beer, an endless supply of cigarettes, and eternal youth.”

“And all the women of the world to fawn on you?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

Miranda slapped her brother’s arm lightly. “You are such an ass.”

He winked back. “But I’m an ass with wholesome tastes. What about you Severus Snape? What would you do if you were a dark wizard?”

Miranda choked and sputtered on the beer she was trying to drink, and came up laughing so hard her face turned red. Severus tied the last bandage into place and rolled down her tunic with measured care before bothering to reply.

“I would never answer another foolish question for the rest of my life,” he said—and meant it.

“That’s pretty good!” Finn laughed. “Mira, your boyfriend’s got a sense of humor after all.”

“It’s one of the things I like about him,” Miranda agreed.

Severus left the Americans to their jocularity; first returning the supplies to the potions closet, and then stalking to the loo to scrub the mess from his hands. He stood there for some time, glaring at his sallow reflection and wondering what in Merlin’s name he was doing here in the first place. He’d rendered service to his lover, and she had her brother now to entertain her. He’d no intention of staying over with said brother sleeping on the sofa. He was painfully aware that Miranda had no desire to retain him in a role that would require certain sacrifices of him; such as enduring the company of her family members. Why put himself out? It wasn’t that he disliked her parents or her brother per se—indeed he barely knew them—but the entire comedy offended his sense of justice. If Miranda wanted him to dance the part of the dutiful boyfriend (what a moronic term that was too!) she could bloody well act as though she wanted him around.

Mind made up, he returned to the main room and announced, “I shall take my leave of you. Miranda, if you have any further troubles you will have to avail yourself of a Healer’s care. Good night.”

“Don’t go yet,” she coaxed. “We haven’t even had a chance to get the card table out.”

“I suspect you can play well enough without me.”

“Come on, professor,” Finn put in. “Isn’t it Christmas break or something?”

“Unfortunately, holidays for the students are not necessarily holidays for the teachers.”

“Finn, go in the bedroom for a minute, would you?” Miranda ordered.

“Why? Can’t you smooch lover-boy with me here?” he retorted, but he was already on his way out of the room.

“Did _he_ call you?” she asked quietly, struggling to pull herself up from the sofa until Severus relented and came to sit beside her, if only to save the strain on her wounded core.

“No. Do not trouble yourself about that,” he replied.

“Did Finn say something stupid before I got here?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He was. “No.”

“I think you’re lying.”

He traced a long finger over her cheek, wondering darkly when her face had supplanted Lily’s in his mind as the measure of female beauty. “Leave it.”

She closed her piercing eyes and gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I should know by now that if you don’t want to talk about something, you’re not going to talk about it.”

“I am pleased to hear you’ve come to such a sensible realization. It should save us many tedious hours of argument.”

She caught hold of his hand and kissed his palm, her lips surprisingly fierce. “The Lees want Finn and me to join them on Sunday for a little excursion to Wales. Will you come?”

Her eyes were bright and hopeful now, and Merlin help him, he did want to come. He wanted to hold her hand like a bloody idiot, and spend time with her friends and family, and pretend that he was liked and respected by descent people. But he knew it was a lie; and he was too tired to tell it to himself tonight.

“I doubt I will have time.” 

He went to the door to gather his cloak, and she asked without rising from the sofa, “Are you going to avoid me the whole time Finn is here?”

He couldn’t answer that question, and he didn’t bother to try. “Good night, Miranda.”

“Good night, Severus.”

The temperature had dropped significantly, and the frigid air stung his nose as he went out into the night. He had succeeded in wrenching the tatters of his dignity from Miranda’s capricious hands, and he wrapped them around his heart the best he could.

They were a feeble shield against the cold.

*****

Borgin and Burkes was quiet at five minutes to close on Saturday evening, but that didn’t bother the girl inside. Cassie was used to the singular merchandise, and dusting cobwebs off the cursed hands and shrunken skulls was as normal to her as scattering fairy clocks in the summertime. Indeed, she felt rather proud that her Uncle Orestes trusted her enough to leave her in charge of the business while he nipped down into the brighter arms of Diagon Alley for a last minute errand. The shop itself was well pleased to sit undisturbed this evening. Better to wait for the _right_ sort of customer than sully one’s skirts with dust from the _wrong_ one. 

The bell above the door clanged a mournful groan, and Cassie looked up from her sweeping to see Draco Malfoy swaggering inside. A blast of cold wind whipped through the front of the shop, ruffling the pages of the massive tome of inventory sitting open on the counter. He gave the door a swift kick, slamming it shut, and she scurried behind the counter to deal with the book. Her uncle would have her hide if he thought she’d left it out for other customers to browse. Borgin and Burkes prided itself on discretion, and she wasn’t about to be the weak link that tarnished that reputation.

“Hello, Draco. Are you having a nice Holiday?” she asked, tapping one of the floorboards with the toe of a polished Mary Jane. It opened with a creak, and she scooped up the book to replace it to its home beneath the floor.

Draco was in no mood for pleasantries. “Where’s that uncle of yours, Cassandra?”

“He stepped out to Mr Ollivander’s. He’ll be back any minute, though. We’re about to close and he’ll want to count down the till.”

“Business is booming I take it?” he sneered.

It wasn’t, not since the Ministry started leaning on all their regular customers. “It’s been fine, thank you for asking.”

She finally wrestled the book into place and pushed the board down tight over it. Wiping her grimy hands on her shop apron, she gave her classmate a friendly smile. No sense in riling tempers that were already short-fused.

“Is there anything I can get for you while you wait? Tea? Cocoa?”

“What? No,” he said distractedly. He was pacing near the front windows, peering out into the street that had been full dark for hours thanks to long winter nights. Suddenly he drew away from the windows and added with great agitation, “Actually, yes. You can go to the back of the shop and stay there.”

She felt her brow furrow and her hands turn cold. “I don’t think Uncle Orestes would like it if I left a customer unattended.”

“I’m not going to steal from your bloody uncle,” he snapped. “Bring me out that box of poison rings from the Carolingian era. Father needs a Christmas present.”

“Christmas was three days ago.”

“Yes, and we don’t celebrate it. Just do as I say!”

She almost obeyed him, he looked so desperate. Her hands gripped the counter as some inexplicable instinct told her to run. Before she could take action, the door opened again, this time admitting a raw-faced man with unkempt gray whiskers, rough clothing, and eerily sharp teeth. Draco’s face went a few shades paler than normal, and Cassie’s heart started beating as fast as a startled robin’s.

“Where’s Borgin?” the man growled.

Draco shrank and she caught the fear in his eyes before he puffed himself back up and faced the newcomer with a decent approximation of careless courage. 

“Out,” Draco said, sounding bored as ever. “Maybe we don’t need to waste our time here.”

The rough-looking man swatted Draco to the side like he were swatting a fly, and Cassie resisted the urge to shrink against the wall as she slid her wand into her hand and hid it in the folds of her robes. As Draco recovered his balance, the older man scented her, and a nasty smile stretched across his mottled features. It did nothing to improve them.

“What have we here?” he said, ambling towards Cassie, who did her best to keep the counter between them.

“She’s nobody,” Draco muttered.

Nobody did her best to keep her voice respectful and even. Show no fear, show now challenge. “I’m Cassandra Borgin, sir, Mr Borgin’s niece. He just popped over to Mr Ollivander’s, and he’ll be back very soon, I’m sure.”

“Cassandra Borgin,” the man leered. “What a pretty little name for a pretty little girl. Friend of yours, Draco?”

“We’re here for her uncle, Grayback,” Draco said, his hands fisted at his sides.

“We’re here for what I say we’re here for.”

“I’m in the same year as Draco,” Cassie offered. Keep him talking. If he was talking, he wasn’t biting. “In Slytherin of course. What house were you in, Mr Grayback?” The man let out a snarl of laughter, and when he didn’t answer, she continued to babble. “Draco’s the Head Slytherin in our year too. It’s a privilege to learn with him. He’s so advanced.”

“Shut up, girl, you talk too much.”

“So sorry, sir.”

The bell rang a third time, and Cassie’s spindly uncle entered, stamping snow from his boots.

“Mr Grayback! Good evening,” he said, flipping the sign from open to closed and lowering the curtains with several quick wand flicks. “Cassie, I think some tea wouldn’t go amiss just now. Be a good girl and go and get the tray.”

“Yes, Uncle Orestes. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” she said, edging towards the door to the back of the shop and safety.

“Cassie is going to stay right where she is,” Grayback countered, “or she’ll be short one uncle.”

She froze on the threshold, and in a blur of movement, Grayback was beside her, wrapping her braids around his thick hand and pulling them until she was looking up at the ceiling. His breath was hot on her face and it stank of putrid meat. 

“Such a pretty little girl. Older than I like, but still young enough,” Grayback cooed. “Don’t mind us, Draco, tell the man why we’re here.”

There was a hairline crack running the length of the moulded ceiling, and a pair of spiders were darting in and out of the rupture. Cassie watched them, and counted her breaths, doing her best not to make matters worse by falling apart. She was glad she’d had all those hours of detention, learning not to show her fear to Professor Snape to prepare her for this moment. Although, if she survived this moment, she doubted she would ever be afraid of her Head of House again.

“I take it you have encountered some difficulty in repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, Mr Malfoy?” Borgin asked calmly when the boy did not speak.

“Yes,” Draco replied harshly. “I’ve done everything you told me to do, and it still doesn’t work.”

“I am terrible sorry to hear that. I’m afraid that, as I cannot see the object, it makes it very difficult for me to advise you. However, I have been frantically researching the matter, and I expect to have further recommendations for you to try when term commences.”

“Perfect. Then I won’t be able to consult you when your new recommendations don’t work either.”

“Borgin, why do I get the feeling that you don’t want Draco to succeed?” Grayback put in.

“Of course I want Mr Malfoy to succeed,” Borgin protested. “In fact, I was just about to suggest that Cassandra here would be the perfect addition to the operation. She already has years of experience handling dark artifacts. I will instruct her here, and she will help you at school.”

“Or maybe I’ll take a little bite out of her and teach you a lesson about keeping your word,” Grayback offered.

Cassie was amazed at how steady her uncle was under fire. 

“If you leave her in one piece, Mr Malfoy will have the further advantage of my on-going help. Cassandra and I can code messages back and forth in our usual correspondence.”

“That might work,” Draco agreed.

Grayback grazed Cassie’s neck with a pointed incisor, and though it did not break the skin, she could not keep from shuddering.

“We’ll let you try,” Grayback said at last. “But if you fail, the girl is mine.”

“I understand,” Borgin replied.

Grayback gave her neck a final squeeze and let go so suddenly that she fell to her knees. She kept her eyes on the floor and did not bother to get up. Her legs were shaking too badly now, and she could no longer check her frightened tears.

“Come on, Draco,” Grayback barked. 

Draco wavered for an instant before following the werewolf out into the night. As soon as the door was shut after their unwanted guests, Borgin threw the lock and brought down the night wards. The relative safety caused Cassie to cry harder, and her uncle got down on the floor beside her to gather her into his arms.

“Well done, my girl,” he said, rocking her like she were a little child rather than a nearly-grown woman.

“Thank you,” she hiccuped. “I’m s..s..sorry. I can’t seem to stop crying.”

“You don’t have to stop just yet. In a minute well go in the back and get a cup of cocoa and some of Aunt Electra’s tea cakes. No need to frighten your Mum with all this.”

“Uncle Orestes, do you think we’ll be able to fix it?”

He gave her a sad smile. “Given enough time, we can fix anything, don’t worry about that.”

The next logical question was: would Fenrir Grayback give them the time they needed? 

Cassie was not brave enough to ask that question tonight.


	5. Mari Lwyd

“Mira, are you ready _yet_?” demanded Finn.

“Almost. Are we late?” Miranda replied as she dawdled in the bathroom, braiding her hair and adjusting her cloche hat. Since she’d been a child she’d been slower than molasses on Sunday mornings, and today was no exception. Driving her brother insane was just a side benefit.

“Seeing as you can get us there in an eye wink, not yet. But in another five minutes we will be.”

“How long do you think we’ll be out?” she asked, half to herself. “I should probably pack my evening regimen in case I need it.”

“Good God, woman! Do you ever plan ahead?”

“Sometimes.”

Finn muttered under his breath while she moseyed to the potions closet. She took her sweet time selecting the vials and balms, being sure to charm them against breakage before putting them in her woven handbag. While she was double checking her list, a terse knock and the sound of the cabin door opening broke her concentration completely.

“Howdy stranger,” Finn said, sounding entertained and frustrated together. “Sis, it’s your boyfriend. You comin’ with us?”

“It would appear so,” Severus replied.

His tone was so neutral that, without the benefit of his facial expression (however subtle it tended to be) Miranda could not tell what had possessed her lover this morning. A volatile combination of pleasure, surprise, confusion, and exasperation coiled itself in her chest, like an adder ready to strike; and it took her some minutes to master herself, lest she embarrass him by too great a show of affection in front of her brother. Sometimes Severus reminded her of a skittish colt; one that had been hurt one too many times and required a firm but measured touch. 

She did allow herself a satisfied smile when she came out into the main room and saw that the Englishman had taken the trouble of dressing in his No-Maj-style Sunday best. In his well-cut gray suit with his hair pulled back he was a pleasing study of angles and lines; even if he was a trifle on the thin side from lack of care. His dark eyes were brewing with a mixture of resignation and irritation; but they warmed when they made contact with hers. It was a little thing, but it was enough.

“I’m glad you came,” she said simply.

He gave her the barest of nods, and Finn muttered something she didn’t quite catch but that she thought included the accusation “moon-eyes.” To her surprise, Severus offered her his arm, and she took it eagerly, ignoring her brother’s amused snort.

“Seein’ as now we _are_ late, do you think we could get a move on?” Finn asked as he pushed past them and out the cabin door.

“Relax, Finn,” Miranda replied. “If we get there by the Sanctus bell, it counts.”

“Good thing, too,” he said, but the grin he gave her over his shoulder bespoke his good humor over the familiar situation.

It was an unseasonably warm winter day; one of those false springs that give rise to foolish hopes, no matter how bleak the times. At the end of the lane Finn reached out to take his sister’s hand, and the three of them disappeared together.

*****

Miranda’s knees buckled when they appeared behind the squat stone church where it crouched like a lopsided mushroom sprung up in the sandy soil; and Severus was quick to slip his arm around her waist to keep her from collapsing completely. Landanwg was far enough from her cabin that she’d had to Apparate them all to a half-way point before making the final plunge, and the effort had literally taken her breath away. She panted, clinging to Severus’s sleeve while her magic spilled out of her like blood from a wound.

“You alright?” Finn asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I just need a minute,” she snapped, frustrated by her weakness. “Go on ahead. I know you hate being late to Mass.”

Finn looked dubious until Severus insisted, “Go. I have her.”

“Fine. But if y’all ain’t in there in ten minutes I’ll be comin’ out after you,” Finn warned as he set off for the front of the church.

When her brother was out of sight, Miranda allowed her head to rest on Severus’s shoulder, and he pulled her close as though he might help her put herself back together by force of will. Her head was still spinning from the trip, but as she forcibly slowed her breathing, she could feel her magic start to wind itself back into her core. 

“Are you steady now?” Severus asked after she’d stopped trembling.

“I think so,” she replied, smiling up at him. “We’d better go in before we miss the whole thing.”

“Indeed.”

It was later than she’d thought it was, and the little church was filled to the gills. Severus’s arm tensed under her hand, and she knew he was irritated at being put in the unwanted position of disturbing the proceedings; but he soldiered through the embarrassment, leading her up the middle of the simple room where Finn was saving a spot for them both. They managed to settle themselves on the worn pew just in time for the Sanctus bell; and Severus sat rigidly upright as Miranda and Finn knelt on either side of him. 

As the minutes ticked by, Miranda’s mind started to wander; and not even the hearty _Tantum Ergo_ sung by the tiny, but stalwart choir could help her bring it under control. Soon she spotted Rachel pacing in an alcove with a very squirmy baby in arms, and she made good on her escape from the tedium of the pew.

“I’m going to go help Rachel with the baby,” Miranda whispered to her disgruntled lover, and was up and away before he could fully register his displeasure with the arrangement.

“Good morning Maggie, you look smashing today,” Miranda said when she reached her goal.

Maggie babbled a string of vowels attached to the letter B and reached for her godmother.

“Thanks,” whispered Rachel distractedly as Miranda scooped the child into her arms and began arranging the frothy pink skirts of the little one’s Sunday dress.

“Yes, that is an angel right there on the wall,” Miranda said, following Maggie’s gaze and guessing at her babbled questions. “Oh, and look! Here’s a little daffodil along the window. Isn’t it nice?”

“I didn’t know Severus was coming with you today,” Rachel murmured, looking rather distressed.

“I didn’t either. He showed up right before we left.” Miranda whispered back. “I hope it’s not a problem he’s here.”

“No! That is, it wouldn’t be, except for Robert.”

“Robert? Robert Walker? What’s Severus’s being here got to do with him?”

“He invited himself along.”

“He didn’t.” Miranda’s eyes quickly scanned the room, and there indeed was Robert Walker, standing shoulder to shoulder with Aaron at the far end of the front pew. 

“If I’d known Severus was coming, I would’ve put Robert off.”

“It’s not your fault,” Miranda reassured her, even as her heart started to pound. She had no idea how far she could trust the Ambassador, and today was not the day that she wanted to find out. “We’ll think of something.”

Even as she made this empty boast, the Mass ended, and the congregants streamed out of their pews with their _Deo_ _Gratiases_ barely out of their mouths. There was nothing the Americans could do besides be swept along with them, and Miranda winced as she caught sight of Aaron, Robert, Finn, and Severus coming together with the terrible inevitability of a train wreck. Aaron’s face was as flushed as hers felt, and the last thing she witnessed before the movement of the crowd brushed her outside to await the damage was Robert sticking his hand out to Severus in friendly expectation of being introduced.

The ladies extricated themselves from the flood of humanity and gathered together beneath an old ash tree. Rachel started tugging Maggie’s little cloak in place, and Miranda fussed with the folds of it in order to give vent to her nerves. 

“I’m so sorry,” Rachel said.

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t know,” Miranda replied. “But when they get out here, follow Severus’s lead. He’ll have come up with some sort of cover, I’m sure of it.”

“Right.”

Maggie was squirming in Miranda’s arms and would not be content until Rachel took her back. Miranda regretted letting go of the child, though. Now she could only watch with growing apprehension for the men to exit the church. 

“Are you ever going to tell me what that man really does?” asked Rachel, putting on a brave smile and encouraging Miranda to do the same.

“I hope so. But not today.”

They caught sight of their party at last, and Rachel busied herself with putting Maggie in the baby-carrier and fastening all the ties. Miranda kept her face as immobile as possible, fairly confident that she looked less anxious than she felt. Aaron’s smile was obviously forced, Robert’s expression was enigmatically pleasant; Severus’s face was blank except for the periodic twitch of an eyebrow, and Finn looked like he’d never been more amused in his life. Her brother gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before walking a little downwind of them in order to light up a cigarette. She’d be joining him as soon as humanly possible.

“Miss Rose, what a pleasant surprise,” Severus said with a suavity that she’d not realized he possessed. “I did not know you were such a close confidante of the Lees.”

“It’s a small world,” she replied in kind. “Nice to see you in the open air.”

“Likewise.” He turned to Rachel, effectively dismissing Miranda. “Rachel, I thank you for the invitation, and for the most recent pages of the Nagasaki potion text. It is truly fascinating reading.”

“You’re so welcome, Severus!” Rachel replied, her voice a little too high. “And thank you for joining us.”

“Miranda! Good to see you this fine morning,” Robert said, shaking her hand and flashing her a grin that reminded her uncomfortably of the Cheshire cat. 

“Good morning, Robert. I didn’t know you’d be here,” she replied, pleased at the way she kept her observation from sounding at all pointed. Severus, if he noticed, didn’t show it; and he determinedly engaged Rachel’s attention about potion minutiae.

“Wouldn’t miss it. It’s been too long since I’ve been down to Wales.”

“I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starving,” said Aaron, sweeping in and taking charge of the situation. 

“You read my mind,” Robert replied. “Where do we get a bite around here?”

“There’s a little pub over yonder. The cawl there’s not to be beat.” 

Robert and Aaron set off at a good pace, and soon were deep in a conversation about Embassy matters that were of no interest to anyone but them. Rachel, Maggie, and Severus fell in behind them, still discussing the potions text, and Miranda allowed herself to linger behind with her brother. Finn handed her a cigarette, and as soon as the others were out of sight, he let out a boom of laughter that he’d obviously been restraining for some time. Miranda couldn’t help but join him.

“That boyfriend of yours is quick on his feet,” Finn said when they’d recovered enough to set off towards the pub.

“It’s one of his better qualities,” she replied.

“I hate to say this, but I think I’m starting to like him. Maybe you oughta try not to fuck this one up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe you oughta keep your opinions to yourself.”

He let out a low whistle. “Fuck me runnin’, it _is_ serious.”

“As a heart attack,” she said, letting the sarcasm sharpen her words to protect the grain of truth inside.

Finn shook his head at her, but minded his tongue for the time being, apparently pleased to have harried his sister into admitting even part of the whole.

*****

“I don’t think I could eat another bite if you paid me,” Robert groaned, pushing his chair back from the wide table littered with empty plates. “Good call on the restaurant, Aaron.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Aaron replied. 

Maggie babbled her agreement from her perch on her father’s lap while Rachel took the opportunity to finish the last of the eggs on her plate. She and Severus had been deep in a heady potion debate since the group had left the church, and Miranda had to admit that she was impressed by his performance so far.

“What’s next on the agenda?” Robert asked.

“We should take a walk down on the beach since it’s not too cold,” Aaron replied. “Rachel and Maggie were hoping to see some seals.”

“I’ll meet you down there,” Finn said, finishing his coffee. “After I’ve had a look in Mari Lwyd for that album Seamus wants.”

“I’ll come with you,” Miranda said.

“I would not be adverse to perusing the shop with your party,” Severus said.

“Then it’s settled,” Rachel said. “Robert, why don’t you come down with us, and the others can catch up later.”

Robert’s eyes were on the wad of Muggle currency that he was counting as he replied, “I think I’ll head over to the shop first. But you go on ahead. Then you’ll be ready to give us the grand tour when we get there.”

Miranda stifled a groan and Severus continued to appear blandly polite, as though he spent all his Sundays on excursions with people he supposedly barely knew. Rachel mouthed an “I’m sorry” behind Robert’s back when they rose from the table, and the group split in two with the Lees heading away from the little town towards the shore, and the rest of them winding up the narrow streets to the shop. Robert took the spot next to Miranda, leaving Finn to walk with Severus, and even though the Ambassador kept up a steady stream of conversation, she fancied she could sense Severus’s silent irritation emanating from his person. She was never going to hear the end of this.

The Mari Lwyd was a squat little building, and would have been lost in the crowd of similar gray stone companions, except that she boasted a bleached-white equine skull strapped to the end of a long stick above her door. It took Miranda a moment to realize that the bizarre thing was a hobby-horse (albeit a grotesque one). The inside was crammed with an odd collection of ghastly hobby-horses, clownish marionettes, No-Maj records, musical paraphernalia ranging from the practical to the sublime; as well as a staggering number of bookshelves that were packed to the gills with dusty books. Severus excused himself (and politely too!) and escaped into the maze of literature, and Robert let him go without a glance. For all the inanity of Robert’s questions (What baseball team do you follow? Ever been out to California?) Miranda had the distinct feeling that she was being cross-examined, although she was aware that she might simply be irritated with Robert for becoming an unintentional third (fourth?) wheel. 

Finn zipped off to do business with the ancient shopkeep; but once he’d secured Seamus’s prize, he took pity on his sister by engaging Robert in a humorous debate on whether Quidditch or baseball were the superior sport (baseball, obviously). As the two men talked and explored the contents of the record bins near the front of the store, Miranda slipped away, ostensibly picking over the novels further inside. Near the back of the shop, she discovered an open door leading to a basement filled with more towers of books; and as she descended the stairs she found Severus reading a thick tome, apparently oblivious to the world around him.

Something told her that apologizing about the current situation would only further annoy him, and so she simply said, “You handled yourself splendidly this morning.”

He replied without glancing up, “Of course I did. What kind of spy did you think I was?”

She started exploring the stack of books next to his, careful to give him plenty of elbow room. “I think you know I’ve always thought highly of your abilities with regards to espionage.”

He seemed to grow several inches under the light of her praise. 

“Whenever I take it into my mind to do something spontaneous, it never fails to end in disaster,” he observed with an ironic smirk.

“I hope you won’t let it stop you from trying.”

He brushed past her, and she felt his lips drop onto the back of her neck for an instant, causing a pleasant shiver to run down her spine.

“One would think that today’s lesson would be sufficient to prevent such foolish decisions in the future. Unfortunately I do not seem to retain such lessons consistently.”

“That does sound troublesome.”

“I assure you, it is.”

He did not linger, and she supposed it was for the best. If they’d gotten this far into the day without arousing Robert’s suspicion, maybe it wasn’t too much to hope that they would get out of this unscathed. She dawdled in the basement until she had a stack of curious novels almost too high to carry; and when she emerged from below to purchase them, the others were nowhere to be found. The shopkeep was quick about his work, and she was more annoyed than concerned to have been left behind. When she had her books packed away in a sturdy paper sack, she went out into the weak light of the afternoon. 

“There you are,” she said, spotting the men loitering in a narrow lane next to the shop.

“Took you long enough,” Finn said, brandishing one of the deathly hobby horses. “Like it? I think I’ll give it to Susan for her birthday.”

“You would.” Miranda shrank her books with a quick wand flick, and stuffed the diminutive shopping bag into her hand bag before any uninitiated No-Majs could notice. “Are you ready to head down to the shore professor?”

Severus had taken a seat on a low stone wall, and was deep in the same book he’d been reading in the shop. But he nodded distractedly, “That would be agreeable.”

“I wonder if they’ve found any seals yet,” Robert commented as they started towards the main street.

A shining hummingbird darted into their midst, and Miranda had to blink before she realized it was Rachel’s _patronus_ and not an overbold animal.

“ _There’s a giant down by the sea caves. We could use a hand_.” Rachel’s voice said with the bird’s mouth. 

Everyone started talking at once.

“A giant?” asked Robert.

“Of all the…” muttered Miranda

“Hoo boy!” whooped Finn.

“Did any of you get a good enough look at where they went to Apparate us to them?” Severus demanded.

“No,” Miranda admitted.

“I didn’t,” said Robert. “And there’s probably too many No-Majs around to take the risk.”

“Of course,” sneered Severus. “We wouldn’t want to disturb the Muggles with a bit of Apparition when there are giants wandering about their shores.”

“Pardon me, professor,” Robert said, his voice a tad too edgy to be truly polite. “I’ll leave the potioning to you, and you leave the international law to me.”

Miranda could see that Severus was about to completely lose his temper, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She grabbed Finn’s arm, dragging him away from the argument.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked, scanning the lonely lane for a likely prospect.

“I sure as fuck hope so,” Finn replied gleefully.

“That black one over by the hedgerow?”

“That’s the one.”

Finn set off towards the hedgerow as inconspicuously as a man with one arm and a skull-headed hobby-horse slung over his shoulder could possibly do, while Miranda inserted herself between the arguing wizards, cutting them off in mid riposte.

“Sorry to break up your fun, gentlemen, but I think we’ve found an answer to our problem,” she said.

“Action would certainly be preferable to continuing this inane altercation,” Severus replied.

“I’m all ears, Miss Rose. And I wouldn’t mind seeing you earn some of that money I’m paying you,” Robert said irritably.

She ignored the dig and took the ambassador by the arm, half leading and half dragging him up the lane while Severus followed alongside. “Finn’s gone ahead, and we’ll be on top of him in less than a minute. When we get there, you two keep watch and we’ll take care of the rest. But I need you both ready to jump when I say jump.”

“You seem to have mistaken me for someone beholden to you, Miss Rose,” Severus said icily.

She snorted impatiently. “Let me put it into small words for you. We’re borrowing a car, and your job is to keep any No-Majs from getting in the way.”

“Somehow I doubt this falls on the legal side of any Statute, International or otherwise.”

“The professor’s right. Do have any idea the amount of parchmentwork that kind of a stunt would generate?” Robert said, but there was an interested gleam in his golden eyes.

“Are you a Thunderbird, or aren’t you?” Miranda shot back. “And more importantly, do you have a better idea?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Robert admitted.

“Then best not to think too hard about it,” Miranda reasoned

“What an excellent philosophy,” Severus said. “Is that the Thunderbird motto?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Miranda replied. “Or whatever that is in Latin.”

They had caught up to Finn and his victim by then, and the wizards positioned themselves at either end of the vehicle to watch for wayward No-Majs. Finn was already in the front seat and had most of the steering wheel column exposed.

“Are you about done in there?” Miranda demanded, sliding into the seat behind him.

“Almost,” he said, shoving the hobby-horse into the back with her. “Here, hold this.”

“Thanks, just want I want to do—be shoved in the back seat of a stolen car with a horse skull.”

“Shh, you’ll hurt her feelings.”

“Her?”

“I named her Peggy Sue.”

“Ass.”

“And proud of it.”

Finn shoved a large safety-pin through two of the wires and the car sputtered to life. In the next instant he’d jammed his hybrid screwdriver/hammer into the ignition, and overpowered the lock on the steering wheel. Miranda rapped on the back window once, and Severus entered the back of the car with all the dignity he could muster, while Robert clambered into the front seat, his eyes shining like a child’s. 

“Buckle up for safety, kids,” Finn crowed as he steered the car down the twisted lane towards the main street. 

“Try not to hit anything this time, would you Finn?” Miranda said, attempting and failing to maneuver the hobby horse in some direction that wouldn’t cause either end of it to jam into Severus or herself. 

“Give me that thing,” Severus snapped, jerking Peggy Sue out of Miranda’s hands. He muttered an incantation, and the thing shrank to the size of a lima bean.

“You’d better not lose that,” Finn warned.

“I’ve got it,” Miranda said. “I’m putting it in my bag right now. You just watch the road.”

“This really isn’t a bad way to travel,” Robert commented, once the four of them were vaguely settled, and the street had smoothed out before them.

The cobblestone gave way to asphalt at the edge of the town, and the hummingbird _patronus_ sped along just in front of them. Finn hit the gas to take advantage of the wider road, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. Robert seemed torn between the thrill of the novelty of stealing a car, and apprehension at the trouble this was likely to cause him later. Miranda was bouncing in her seat while she craned her neck to watch for signs of either the Lees or the giant—and Severus was beginning to look quite green about the gills. 

“Are you alright, professor?” she ventured.

“Indubitably,” was his strained reply.

It was about this time that the sirens started.

“Shit, I knew this was a bad idea,” Robert said, glancing over his shoulder at the traffic car behind them.

“Mira, you wanna take care of that?” Finn said, unconcerned.

“On it,” she said, turning around in her seat to squint out the back window.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Severus demanded, looking quite ready to be ill.

“Don’t distract me,” she said. “Or better yet, give me a hand. I’m going to take out the tires, and you see if you can catch their car so they don’t flip.”

“This is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”

“Worse than stealing the car in the first place?” Robert asked.

“On three,” Miranda said, her wand in hand.

“If you count to three one more time, I’ll not be held responsible for my actions,” Severus muttered under his breath, but he took out his wand and turned towards the back of the car.

“Three!”

She squinted and slashed her wand, and the first tire blew. Severus swore loudly and drew his wand through the air, while she took out the second tire. The traffic car swerved wildly as Miranda destroyed the final two tires, but it came to a halt in the ditch next to the road without crashing into anything, or flipping over. The policemen fired a few shots after them, but Finn quickly outstripped them. Severus gingerly faced forward, looking more green than ever.

“Motion sickness?” Miranda asked.

“Don’t talk about it,” he snapped.

“I see them!” Robert cried.

They crested a hill and beheld both the ocean and the giant in all their gruesome splendor. The foamy waves crashed against the rocky shore, and the giant was crushing the stones in its path into powder as he tromped over the landscape that rumbled with every thunderous stomp. Finn skidded across the road and onto the sandy turf, sending sprays of dust behind them as they squealed along the beach. 

“I shall never accept another invitation for the rest of my life, so help me God,” Severus said through gritted teeth.

“Good to know a little churchin’ this mornin’ did you good,” Finn quipped. 

“Finn, leave the professor alone,” Miranda warned. “For all we know he’s as pious as a monk.”

“Beggin’ your pardon professor. Can’t take me anywhere,” Finn replied.

“We’re going to have a bear of a time covering this one up,” Robert interrupted, gesturing to a group of bystanders huddling next to a tiny stone church on the shore. “Look at all the gawkers.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Miranda said. “First we have to stop him. Wait, is that Aaron up ahead?”

A black bloodhound shot out from behind a dune, barking madly at their tires.

“Looks like it to me. Hit the breaks, Finn,” Robert ordered.

“Don’t know who made you boss,” Finn muttered as he pulled the car to a skidding halt.

The hound bounded towards them, shifting painfully into Aaron’s stricken form in mid leap. The instant the car stopped rolling, Severus bolted out of the back seat, his legs folding beneath him as they hit the unmoving sand. 

“The giant’s got Rachel and Maggie,” Aaron panted, bracing himself on Robert’s door. “Scooped ‘em both up and stuffed ‘em in his pocket.”

“Get in,” Robert said. “We’ll catch them, don’t worry. Come on professor.”

“No,” Severus said firmly. “I would not get back in that demonic machine if my life depended on it.”

“ _Your_ life doesn’t,” Aaron fairly shouted. “ _Theirs_ do.”

Severus dusted the sand off his trousers and stood up to his full height. “Some of us have other means of pursuit available to us. I leave you to yours.”

Without another word, the Englishman muttered an incantation unlike any Miranda had ever heard. As he spoke the strange words, a black cloud enveloped his extremities, engulfing him until the bulk of his body was a semi-solid mass. He gave them an ironic bow and sped up into the ether, cutting through the sky after the giant like a malevolent cloud.

“Those teachers over here are hard core,” Robert said wryly.

“Not bad,” said Finn as Aaron scrambled into Severus’s vacated seat. “Not bad at all.”

“Let’s not get too far behind,” Miranda said; and she couldn’t stop the swell of pride in her heart. Severus really was quite something, and while she might have wished for a quieter Sunday, she wasn’t sorry to show him off to her brother.

Their speed was hampered by the rough terrain and the fact that the old sedan was _not_ made for off-road adventuring. Severus caught up to the giant while they were still maneuvering over the sand dunes, and Miranda held her breath as they watched the giant swat at the black cloud descending on him with his club-like arms. Severus was as nimble in the air as he was on earth (and perhaps more so) and he avoided the clumsy blows as he landed somewhere on the giant’s ragged shirtfront. The creature paused in his raging, and for a moment it seemed that they might finally catch up to him; but then he was off again, and disappearing into the mouth of a cave that skirted the edge of the sea.

“It’s a perfect day for a little spelunking, do you think?” Miranda asked grimly.

To her surprise, it was her own brother who twisted the knife. 

“Sure does. Too bad you’re not going,” Finn said as he drew the car to a halt on the rocky shore.

“Finn!” Miranda protested

“Miranda, don’t you Finn me, or I’ll get that boyfriend of yours to put you in time out,” Finn shot back.

“He’s right,” Aaron said firmly. “You’re only cleared for light duty. Giants are heavy lifting.”

“Besides,” said Robert, “we need someone here to deal with the No-Majs if they catch up.”

Much as she bristled at being left behind, she knew she was outnumbered and that arguing would only waste more precious time. “Fine. Just get going.”

Aaron gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, and then bounded out of the car, shifting to his _animagus_ form as he did. Robert was hard on the bloodhound’s heels, and soon both of them had disappeared into the cave after the others. An eerie silence descended on the beach, punctuated by the constant crashing of the waves as the minutes ticked by. Miranda got out of the car and started pacing, wand drawn, but waiting at her side. Finn left the car idling, but got out to pace alongside her. After a moment of this, he pulled out a cigarette for the two of them, and she lit them with two shaky finger snaps.

“What do you wanna do when we’re done here?” he asked conversationally.

“I don’t know,” she replied tensely. “Go dancing I guess. Prospero’s is a good time even on a Sunday night.”

“That’d do. Or we could drag your boyfriend back to the cabin and try out the new televideo you got for Christmas. I think some pizza and a little _Die Hard_ sound like the only chaser worthy to wash this day down with.”

She snorted. “If we want decent pizza we’ll either have to go to the Embassy or make it ourselves.”

“Well, I haven’t given you a Christmas present yet, have I?”

“You’re a prince among men, Finn.”

A pair of loud cracks startled the siblings. They whirled away from the caves to face the new attack; Miranda brandishing her wand, and Finn a pistol that he’d somehow managed to slip past MACUSA security. The men that at had appeared at their backs were both grizzled, but it was the more haggard of the two that Miranda recognized first.

“Auror Moody,” she said, lowering her wand slowly and nodding to her brother to do the same. “Nice to see you. Out for a Sunday stroll on the beach?”

“The alarms at the Ministry’ve been blaring for half an hour, Miss Rose,” Alastor replied. “Interesting that we find you here in the thick of it.”

“You know each other?” demanded the other man. 

“We’ve met. This here’s Miranda Rose,” Alastor said. “Don’t know who the other bloke is.”

“He’s my brother,” Miranda said as her mind scrambled to place this man’s vaguely familiar face. “And you must be Minister Scrimgeour.”

“A quick thinker. But, then Alastor told me as much about you earlier.” Rufus’s sharp eyes darted to Finn, who was holding the pistol lowered at his side. “MACUSA seems to have an interesting interpretation of our firearm laws.”

“It’s been an eventful day,” Miranda deflected.

“So I gather. Be so good as to explain what’s happened.”

She bristled as she always did when given an order, but attempted to keep her temper under control. "The short version is there’s a giant on the loose. There’s several people back on the beach who saw it, along with a pair of policemen maybe a mile back who saw us…borrow this car. Oh, and someone probably ought to return it.”

“Interesting. It sounds as though you’re attempting to tell me my business.”

“I was merely suggesting a course of action. We’ve got the giant under control here.”

“Who is we?”

A series of pops like a Fourth of July firecracker saved her the trouble of explaining, as Robert, Aaron, Severus, Rachel, and Maggie all appeared on the beach, apparently unharmed.

“Miss Rose, the hobby horse, if you please,” demanded Severus without preamble.

“The what? Oh, right,” Miranda said, and began digging in her handbag for Peggy Sue.

“What do you want with my hobby horse?” asked Finn.

Severus ignored the question, taking the toy and returning it to full size with wave of his wand. 

“What…” began Rufus.

“You Yanks sure have some interesting taste in souvenirs,” said Alastor. 

“Will it do?” Severus asked Rachel.

“It’s perfect,” she replied.

Severus gave a short nod, and promptly decapitated the unfortunate horse.

“Peggy!” cried Finn, but Miranda dug her elbow into his side and he gave no further protest.

The ground beneath their feet began to tremble again, and Severus handed Miranda the leftover stick while Rachel gave Maggie to Aaron. The baby was waving her arms and babbling excitedly, and all of them turned to see the fearsome giant emerge from the cave—with a similarly proportioned headless dog at his heels. Working in tandem, Severus and Rachel charmed Peggy’s head to a size suitable to the beastly canine, and attached it to the scarred skin of the creature’s neck. The dog leapt and gave a raspy bark; and the ground shook as it landed on its massive paws. The giant scratched the beast just behind its new head, and uttered a string of guttural sounds. Rachel replied with a wave and a few scratchy words of her own, and both giant and dog trotted off towards the northeast and home.

“Robert Walker, you’d better have an explanation for all this,” blustered Rufus.

“And I do, Rufus,” Robert replied with an easy grin. “Why don’t I give you and Auror Moody a hand tying up the loose ends, and then I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. My treat.”

Rufus did not look at all pleased with this arrangement, but as the sound of No-Maj sirens were clearly discernible in the distance—and getting closer—he capitulated ungraciously.

“Fine. Let’s go,” he snapped, and disappeared with an angry pop. 

Alastor followed suit, and Robert paused long enough to shake hands with the party.

“Professor, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to having a chat with you in the near future. Really fine work today. Rachel, Aaron, thanks again for inviting me. Miranda, I knew I wasn’t wrong about you. Finn, don’t worry about the pistol or the car, I’ll get it taken care of for you. Maggie, you were perfect,” he said without pausing for either breath or acknowledgement; and disappeared.

“Severus, I’m…” Aaron began sheepishly.

“Keep your apologies and your thanks, Aaron,” Severus interrupted. “Only, be sure to inform the Ambassador that I have _no_ interest in speaking to him, _ever_.”

“Will do.”

“I’m sorry about your hobby-horse, Finn,” Rachel said. “But it went to a good cause. That dog has been lost here in Wales for centuries without a head. By reuniting her with her owner and doing our best to heal her, we may have helped sway human-giant relations somewhat in our favor. The work’s not over by any means, but it’s a good start.”

“It’s alright,” Finn said. “If I had to loose Peggy, at least I got to witness her apotheosis in the process.”

“I’m not going to thank you in words,” Rachel said, turning to Severus, “but I’ll have the next translation in your hands by the end of the week.”

The corner of Severus’s lip twitched briefly into a smile at this. “That would be most agreeable.”

There was a blur of handshaking, hugs, and fair-wells as the Lees prepared to depart. Miranda was half expecting Severus to take the opportunity to escape as well, and much as that would have disappointed her, she wouldn’t have been able to blame him either. But when her friends had all disappeared home, she was pleasantly surprised to see Severus still standing on the beach, and looking no more irritated than he usually did.

“Come on, kids, what do you say we head back to the ranch and I’ll get some pizza made while you two neck on the couch,” offered Finn.

“Finn! We’re not going to neck in front of you,” Miranda protested, her cheeks turning pink.

“Why not? He’s one of us now, ain’t he?”

Miranda’s eyes darted to Severus’s, and she felt her face flush hotter as she tried to divine what on earth was happening behind that enigmatic mask. 

“Well, Miranda; am I?” asked Severus in a perfectly neutral tone.

Her face relaxed into a little smile as she replied, “You are if you want to be.”

He bent his head to brush his lips against her cheek, and though they were cool where they touched her skin, they sent a spark of heat running from the point of contact all the way to the depths of her heart. 

“Then I suggest we depart before I think better of it,” he said, but he couldn’t quite keep his pleased expression hidden from view.

Finn made good on his promise, and later that evening they ate the best homemade pizza that any Englishman ever tasted. And while Miranda did _not_ neck with Severus on the sofa while her brother labored over dinner; when the three of them were settled there, watching the action film in all its glory, there was a moment amidst the explosions, car crashes, and destruction that Severus took her hand and laced their fingers together—and didn’t let go.

It was a little thing, but it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to Jane/Bunbury for supporting me through writing this chapter! You’re the best, dude.
> 
> Mari Lwyd is a Welsh wassailing custom. The wassailers ride a hobby-horse with a horse’s skull for a head as they go caroling about the neighborhood.
> 
> The giant headless dog looking for its master is from Welsh folklore.


	6. si, un mostro son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes, i am a monster

During the first Potions lesson of the New Year, Cassie called in a favor. She hated to do this, preferring to hoard them like a miser hoards gold; but she knew that a favor never spent was almost as useless as one you’d never had in the first place. And she hadn’t wasted all of third year trailing Draco Malfoy in order to give Pansy Parkinson a detailed account of the boy’s habits and routines for nothing. 

She arrived early for class to claim her prize as Draco’s bench partner for the rest of term. As a peace offering (for she doubted he would be pleased with the new arrangement), she gathered the supplies listed on the board for the day’s lesson, setting up both of their work spaces with quick efficiency and shaking hands. She’d not forgotten the feel of Fenrir Greyback’s teeth on her neck, and when Pansy flounced into the room and gave her a haughty glare before slinking to the back to partner with Tracey Davis, Cassie had to restrain herself from laughing out loud. She would never be afraid of the likes of Pansy Parkinson again.

Draco barely looked at her when he arrived, and she knew from the house elf chatter that he’d been up most of the night again. Class began as usual with Professor Slughorn asking a simple question and Hermione Granger regurgitating the text book. Apparently this was what the professor considered sufficient instruction, and he set them loose to create a credible antidote for the mystery poison assigned to them. When she and Draco each had their poison simmering in their cauldrons, she quietly drew a piece of parchment from her textbook and slid it across the worktable to her partner.

He glanced at it and stuffed it into his pocket. “Your uncle?” he asked indifferently.

“Yes. It’s the first step to restarting the magic. If it’s not too much trouble, please take notes on what happens when you follow those directions. Then I can send them to Uncle, and he’ll be able to advise you on what to do next,” she replied, her head bent over her work.

“This is going to take too long.”

“I’m sorry. We’re doing the best we can. If you like, I could come with you and take the notes myself. It might make the whole operation go a little faster.”

“No. I don’t need anymore of your _help_.”

“Something wrong, Draco?” asked Professor Slughorn from where he lazed at the front of the room, his feet propped up on a velvet poof.

“No, sir,” Draco quickly replied. “We were just discussing the next step.”

Professor Snape would not have allowed this to pass unexamined, but Professor Slughorn was thankfully both more benevolent and less energetic than their Head of House. 

“Very good, carry on,” he said, and returned to his reading.

The antidote preparation soon demanded their complete attention, and it wasn’t until Cassie was painstakingly extracting the essence from a year-old cat’s gallbladder that they had time to speak again.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” she said. “I’m doing my best.”

He curled his lip unpleasantly at her, but she had the distinct feeling that if she prodded his angry mask ever so slightly, it would crumble into despair.

“Yeah, well, you’d better try harder,” he hissed back.

She swallowed hard and turned her focus to the extraction; trying not to think about Greyback’s teeth.

*****

On Thursday evening, Finn and Miranda were lingering over bowls of jambalaya and glasses of iced coffee in the MACUSA cafeteria while they waited for Finn’s portkey home. The Marx Brothers were the evening’s wall entertainment, and Miranda gave Harpo and Chico half her attention while a sweet sort of melancholy tickled her heart. She rarely spent time in self-reflection, but the looming end of this visit with her favorite living brother was tempting her to the vice. 

“I’m going to miss you,” she said, hoping to disarm some of the emotion by speaking it aloud.

“Course you are,” he replied, a flattering mix of disappointment and affection on his face. “It ain’t the same at home without you, no matter how many times you go off. But if you’re really aimin’ to set up a homestead here, maybe now’s the time to start easin’ everybody into the idea.”

Leave it to Finn to thrust her right back into the middle of her confusion. “I’m not going to stay here forever.”

“You sure about that? I mean, we’ll give you shit about it, but if it’s what you want we’d all back your decision.”

She dragged her spoon through the dregs of her bowl, avoiding his shrewd eyes. “It’s not what I want. I mean, I’m planning to stay for awhile longer. The money’s good over here, and much as I hate all Healers, I want to keep working with Healer A’isha at least until I’m back to normal.”

He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. “And then there’s always Severus Snape.”

“I’m not staying because of him.” God, she didn’t want to talk about this now.

“Miranda Jane Rose, you lie to whoever you want, exceptin’ yourself and me.”

“I’m not lying to you!”

“Then what the actual fuck is going on with the two of you?”

“You wait until now to ask me that? You’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Exactly. There’s no time for you to beat around the bush. Now talk.”

“Ass. It’d serve you right if I just left you here without saying anything.”

“Probably.” He pulled out a pair of cigarettes and flipped one to her. “But you ain’t gonna.”

She gave a sigh of resignation and snapped her fingers to light the cigarettes. “The truth is, I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. I thought it was just going to be a casual thing—just blowing off steam. It was that way for a long time. And then it wasn’t.”

“Do you love him?”

There was no way on God’s green earth that she was going to admit to that out loud. “I’d be an idiot if I did. He’s in the middle of a giant shit show over here, and he’s tied up in enough emotional knots to make Alexander scream.”

“Seems to me you know a thing or two about shit shows and fucked up emotions. Does he love you?”

“You are like a dog after a bone, Finn.”

He had the audacity to wink at her. “Yep.”

She never could lie to Finn. “He’s never said so, but I wouldn’t be shocked if he did. I’m not stupid. The way he looked after me when I got hurt in Romania—I know he wouldn’t have done all that if he didn’t care. And I know it hurt him when I moved out of his rooms and back to my cabin. But I couldn’t stay there with him and let it all choke me.”

“You do what you gotta do; but if he’s in that deep and you don’t feel the same way, it seems only sportin’ to let him go.”

“I know.”

“But?”

She puffed out a few rings of smoke and sent them dancing in and out of each other beneath the bright cafeteria lights. “But I don’t want to.”

“Interestin’. It ain’t your style to play with hearts like that.”

“I don’t need you to point that out to me. I know it’s a shit thing to do.”

“I ain’t here to judge you. Just watch your back. Even a lowly No-Maj like me can tell shit is hot over here, and I don’t wanna be goin’ to your funeral. I’ve had enough of buryin’ siblings to last me a lifetime.”

“Don’t I know it?”

They snuffed out their cigarettes and tossed them into their empty bowls. The interrogation had lasted long enough that they had to rush through the Hall of Virtues to make it to the Transportation Hub on time. Finn queued up at the back of the portkey line, and set down his rucksack to give his sister a fierce hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the smell of home, and her throat was so tight it hurt to breathe. When he let go of her at last, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“See ya ‘round, Sis,” he said. “If you need anything, you call me. I’ll be here in two shakes.”

“I will,” she replied. “And same goes for you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, threw his rucksack over his shoulder, and stepped up on wide platform. The ruby slipper appeared on the marble pedestal before him, and he threw her one final grin over his shoulder before reaching out to touch the portkey.

Then he spun away, back to Kansas and home.

*****

Half an hour later Miranda was hurtling into classroom 1B, ten minutes late for her first Animagus lesson. She skidded to a halt and fought the urge to wince at the way her boots echoed through the cavernous room. The door slammed ominously shut behind her, and Minerva McGonagall did not deign to look up from the podium where she sat marking scrolls and looking severely disappointed. Miranda’s face turned red as she slunk penitentially to a desk near the back of the room, and she was surprised to see Remus Lupin, dressed in tattered trousers and an overlarge flannel shirt, already sitting in the back corner. He gave her a sympathetic look when their eyes met, but she had the distinct feeling that he was studying her every move, withholding judgement until she either won her place as his working partner—or lost it completely.

“How good of you to join us, Miss Rose,” Minerva said, still busily marking. “I take it you had trouble getting through security?”

Miranda already liked Hagrid too much to throw him under the Knight Bus. “No, Ma’am. My brother was heading back home tonight, and I didn’t figure in enough time to get from the Embassy to here. Sorry for the inconvenience, it won’t happen again.”

Minerva let this answer hang in the air and Miranda slid into a desk a few rows in front of Remus, suddenly feeling eleven years old again.

“See that it doesn’t,” Minerva said crisply.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Minerva finished marking the scroll while Miranda fell victim to the sort of restlessness that only descended on her in the classroom. Through monumental effort, she managed to restrain this feeling to the tapping of one toe inside her boot, but she knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she felt like screaming. At last the steely professor rolled up the scroll, laid down her quill, and gave her student a look that showed how very unimpressed she was with the American witch thus far.

“May I safely assume that you have read Perdix’s _Animagi Liberatus_?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And do you have any initial questions on the material?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Then please stand up and cast a _Patronus_.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The chair squeaked horribly as she got up, and her boots sounded thunderous as she took her place in the middle of the empty aisle. She wet her lips and did her best to banish all these little humiliations with the thought of spring and perfect baseball games. “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

The bobcat burst immediately out of her wand, displaying a confidence she didn’t quite feel. It eyed the inhabitants of the room curiously, slinking around Miranda’s ankles before prowling across the room to Remus.

“Funny, I thought you were a dog person,” he observed, returning the Patronus’s stare with an amused one of his own.

“I am. God has a sense of humor,” Miranda quipped.

“Please keep the commentary to a minimum,” Minerva ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Remus and Miranda chorused.

“Thank you. Now, I want you to take a moment to study your _Patronus_ as minutely as you can,” Minerva said.

Miranda squatted down to do as she was bid, narrowing her eyes as she marked each stripe and curve of her silvery bobcat. The Patronus ignored her, still staring at Remus, until it gave a hiss of displeasure and darted up one of the bookcases to perch imperiously on the top.

“Are you ready?” Minerva asked when the Patronus was settled.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Miranda had never made an emptier boast.

“To remind you, the incantation is _Amato Animo Animato Animagus_ ,” Minerva said.

“Decline _puer_ ,” Miranda muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Minerva clearly didn’t believe her, but she let it pass. “Picture your _Patronus_ as you speak the words, and don’t fight whatever happens afterwards.”

“Okay, here goes.” Miranda took a deep breath and let her mind go mildly unfocused. “ _Amato Animo Animato Animagus_.”

As soon as the final syllable left Miranda’s lips, her skin started to itch everywhere. Her reptilian brain started to panic as coarse, striped fur sprouted all over her limbs and her spine stretched and snapped like a rubber band. She closed her eyes against the pain as her right hand shriveled into a mangled caricature of a cat’s paw. Gradually the pain and the pitiful pseudo-transformation stopped. Remus’s eyes were glinting with humor when she opened hers again, although he had the decency not to laugh at her attempt.

“Not bad for a first try,” Minerva allowed.

“Surely we don’t need an audience for this,” Miranda said in a voice that was now colored by a throaty purr. “We must be wasting Mr Lupin’s time.”

“Not at all,” Remus replied. “The more time I spend with you, the less likely I’ll be to attack you when the wolf takes over. The Wolfsbane Potion isn’t always enough on its own.”

“I see.”

“Please shift back to your human form and then we’ll try again,” Minerva ordered brusquely. 

“God, this is going to be worse than Apparition,” Miranda muttered. “ _Amato Hominis_.”

Remus’s eyes were still on her, and she did her best not to flinch at the discomfort of shifting back.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Rose,” Minerva said.

Miranda had a sinking feeling that Minerva McGonagall was going to turn out to be an even sterner taskmaster than Severus Snape.

*****

By the end of the lesson, Miranda ached from head to toe and wanted nothing more than to crawl down to Severus’s rooms and beg for a massage. Remus, unfortunately, stuck to her like a bad penny, and she had to make a show of “going home” for his sake.

“Care to join me for a drink at the Hog’s Head?” he asked as they went out into the frozen night.

She didn’t, but something in his tone told her this question was another test. “Sure. We should probably get to know one another if we’re going to be working together.”

“I agree.”

Hagrid and Fang met them at the gate, and they paused long enough for Miranda to scratch the mastiff behind his floppy ears. Once they were clear of the school’s wards, Remus held out his hand to her. His skin was rough and calloused, and soon she felt the unpleasant pull behind her navel as he side-alonged her to the edge of the Hogsmeade High Street. The Inn was quiet when they arrived, dingy and smelling of old ale. A dour man with bright eyes and a long hoary beard manned the bar, and he grunted to them by way of greeting.

“I’d take a pint when you get a minute, Aberforth,” Remus said as they went by. “What would you like, Miss Rose?”

“Rye if you’ve got it, Firewhiskey if you don’t,” she replied.

Aberforth muttered something derisive and shuffled away to gather their drinks while Remus led her to a table in the furthest recesses of the bar. Without asking, he took the chair with its back to the wall, putting her in the uncomfortable position of relying on his eyes for protection. They stared at each other, each taking the measure of the other, until Aberforth arrived with a chipped bowl of greasy popcorn, a pint of cloudy ale, and a glass of flaming liquor.

“To new beginnings,” Remus said, raising his glass.

“New beginnings.” Miranda clinked her glass to his and drank without breaking eye contact.

“So tell me,” he asked as he picked at the popcorn. “How did you wind up working for Albus Dumbledore?”

After the excellent dinner at the Embassy, Miranda had no stomach for bar food. “By way of Lucius Malfoy.”

“Really?” His curiosity was obviously piqued.

“Ironic, don’t you think? He hired me to hunt down Sirius Black, and Albus hired me to _pretend_ to hunt down Sirius Black to keep Malfoy busy. Then just to make things more entertaining, Albus sent me to Romania to help Charlie Weasley with a project. Now that’s over, and here I am with you.”

“I see. Albus does like to get his money’s worth out of people.” The bitter edge to this observation did not go unnoticed.

“Do I remember correctly that you and Mr Black were friends?”

“You do.” If possible Remus’s already woeful countenance became even more melancholy. “We were mates from our school days.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I never got to meet him, but I think I would have liked him, if I’d gotten the chance.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked dubiously.

Something about his gaze made her vaguely uncomfortable—as though he could see through her in a way most people couldn’t.

“I spent a fair amount of time interviewing people who knew him while I was on the case. I got the impression that he was a passionate man, fiercely loyal to his friends, brave to the point of recklessness, and possessed of a wicked sense of humor. Sounds to me like the sort of fellow I’d love to have known.”

Remus took a long drink and then stared into the depths of his pint. When he finally looked back up at her, she knew he was setting her yet another test.

“Tell me Miss Rose, is Severus Snape one of those many people you interviewed about Sirius?”

Through long practice she managed not to visibly react to Severus’s name being spoken, but her toe inside her boot started tapping again.

“No,” she replied. “I never met Professor Snape before that Order meeting when I met you.”

Remus gave her a cold, wolfish smile, that did not suit his features in the least. “This is a terrible start. I’m going to ask Albus to reassign you.”

Her heart started to pound uncomfortably, but her voice was even and curious. “Why? What did I do wrong?”

“We’ve barely met and you’re already lying to me. Doesn’t bode well for future work together.”

“What are you talking about?”

He leaned across the table and dropped his voice to a low growl. “Miss Rose, I don’t believe for an instant that you met Severus for the first time at that meeting. His smell was all over you, even after he left. What did you do, spend all day in bed with him?”

It was a stupid mistake—forgetting that some loup garous had a preternatural sense of smell even in human form—and she blushed for shame of having been caught making it. She covered her embarrassment by finishing her whiskey, then returned his gaze boldly.

“And if I did?” she challenged.

Remus snorted. “I don’t care who you sleep with. But if we’re going to work together the way Albus expects us to, we can’t lie to each other. With what we’re going to be walking into, we have to trust each other completely. Unfortunately, there’s no time to build that trust.” He slugged down the rest of his pint and stood up from the table. “I’m sorry to waste your time, but it’s better for you to be off this assignment anyway. Safer, you understand. It was good to meet you.”

“Mr Lupin, wait,” she said, taking the risk of laying a hand on his wrist before he walked away completely. He glared down at the trespass, and she strongly suspected he was fighting the urge to snarl at her. “Please, just sit down, have another drink, and let’s talk about this.”

She held his gaze fearlessly, surprised he didn’t shake her hand off. After a moment he signaled to Aberforth, and resumed his seat at the table. She waited until the barkeep had set them up with another round and a fresh bowl of popcorn, furiously working out what exactly she was going to say. In the end she fell back on her usual tactic; improvisation.

“Listen, I’m going to lay it all out for you, and then you can decide what you want to do,” she began, ignoring his scoff. “I met Severus the summer before last while I was hunting a vampire. We’ve been on and off since then; mostly on. I know about both of his…bosses. Albus knows about me, but the other one doesn’t, and we’re trying to keep it that way for everyone’s safety. I think you can imagine what the Dark Lord would do if he got wind of the fact that his minion is fucking a No-Maj born like me.”

“I didn’t know you were Muggle-born.”

She bristled. “Does that matter to you?”

“No, not at all.” Remus’s suspicious expression became very thoughtful. “I think I’m just surprised that it doesn’t matter to Severus.”

“I haven’t grilled him on it,” she shrugged.

“Maybe you should.”

This was not a conversation she wanted to pursue. “I don’t remember asking you for relationship advice.”

“You’re right, you didn’t.” His lips turned up in a humorless smile. “You’re wise to keep things quiet. Does anyone else in the Order know about you?”

“Arthur and Molly Weasley. But as far as I know they’ve kept mum, so I hope you won’t go clucking with them about it.”

“I won’t. What do you see in him?”

That was more than enough. “I don’t see the need to justify my love life to you, Mr Lupin. Or maybe you’d like me to start asking you questions about Auror Tonks.”

“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” he said coldly.

It seemed to her that they’d scuffled enough for one evening. “Maybe we should go back to safer topics,” she suggested as a peace offering. “Like loup garous or blood politics.”

He studied her for a long time, and then his face relaxed into a real smile. “Yes, let’s. Tell me more about the werewolves in America.”

*****

As the clock ticked perilously close to midnight, Severus sat in his armchair, reading Oscar Wilde and doing his best not to be annoyed with Miranda’s tardiness. He’d long since accepted her chronic lateness, and he knew she’d had a hefty list of commitments ahead of their engagement. Still, it _was_ his birthday and it _would_ be nice to see her at some point before the ninth of January turned into the tenth.

At five minutes to the new day, the door to his sitting room creaked open and he put aside his novel, greeting her tired smile with what he hoped was a reserved, but pleasant expression of his own. She hung her bag on a hook by the door that he’d installed for the purpose and stretched like a languid cat. He admired her form, unreasonably pleased that she was finally here.

“I’m glad _that’s_ all over,” she said.

“Did your first Animagus lesson go so poorly?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Professor McGonagall said I did well, but my joints all say differently. She’s as hard a teacher as you are.”

“Harder, I think.”

She came to him and slipped onto his lap. His arms went around her waist, and as she laid her head on his shoulder he felt unnervingly content. 

“Then Remus Lupin decided to give me the third degree. That’s what took me so long. He wanted to cut me out of the whole mission,” she explained.

Merlin, he didn’t want to think about the details of this pernicious mission. “Perhaps you should have let him.”

“I know you don’t like that I’m assigned to it, but it’s part of my job. And anyway, I talked him into keeping me.”

“I’m not surprised. You can be quite…persuasive when you care to be.”

She gave him an impish smile. “Speaking of persuasive, what would it take to convince you to give me a massage? I had no idea that Animagus training was going to make my body feel like a pretzel.”

“ _I_ give _you_ a massage?” he teased. “I was under the impression that it was _my_ birthday.”

“And so it is. I’ll give you your presents first if that’s what it takes.”

He kissed her temple and shook his head. “No. You’ve coerced me. To the bedroom with you.”

“I knew there was a reason I spent time with you.”

She stripped down to her knickers on the way to the bedroom. He hung his frock coat in the armoire, and rolled up his sleeves as she picked over his store of healing balms for a satisfactory concoction; more comfortable in her own skin than anyone he’d ever met. She tossed him her selection and stretched out on the bed with a happy sigh, and as he knelt over her his heart ached with an emotion it was ill-equipped to process. He buried this hurt with the feel of her flesh under his fingers, and the sound of her appreciative moans as he kneaded her pains away.

“Mmm…” she hummed. “You _do_ love me.”

Her shoulders tensed instantly under his frozen hands, and he inwardly cursed her impulsive tongue for uttering such nonsensical truth.

“I mean metaphorically speaking,” she added quickly.

“Of course,” he replied, his hands mechanically returning to their work. “You’ve quite an inflated sense of your own importance, haven’t you?”

“That’s me,” she said, her voice nowhere near as relaxed as it had been moments before. “My head’s so big it’s in danger of floating away.”

For a brief moment he had the insane urge to confess the sin she’d lightheartedly accused him of; morbidly curious to witness the destruction it would likely cause. As she settled back into limpid tranquility under his touch, he frantically searched his mind for some other topic of conversation to distract him from wantonly lighting the inferno that would no doubt spell the end of their association.

“I…had thought we might attend the opera on Saturday,” he said. It was a mostly idle promise—he hadn’t even spoken to Charity to arrange the purchase of tickets—but he hoped mentioning it would both please Miranda and close the door on the previous topic.

“Oh, Severus, I’m so sorry, but I can’t,” she replied. 

His temper was rubbed raw from the last ten minutes, and her contrition was salt in the wound.

“May I ask why?” he asked in an subtly acrid tone. 

“I’m actually already going to the opera on Saturday.”

“I see. With whom?”

“Dante Sanguini. He set it up weeks ago. Didn’t I tell you about it earlier?”

“Not that I recall. I don’t suppose it matters to you if I mind that you are cavorting with a vampire.”

“My time is my time, and I’ll spend it with whomever I like.”

“Need I remind you that you have yet to regain your full strength either magically or physically?”

“No. I’m very aware of my limits.”

He seethed silently as his fingers worked on her muscles. How dare she be so reckless with her person and then claim he had no right to be concerned?

“Severus,” she said after a few moments of deadly silence had ticked by, “you’re hurting me.”

“My apologies,” he muttered, lightening his touch.

“Just stop. That’s enough anyway.” She extricated herself from her position beneath him and rolled up to sit against the headboard, her knees tucked to her chest as she studied him with new eyes. “I don’t need you telling me what to do. Do I complain when you go off to have tea with the Dark Lord?”

“That is different,” he growled.

“It’s not.”

He felt his face turn to stone and he got up off the bed, crossing his arms over his chest like a shield charm. 

“I do not _ever_ needlessly put myself in harm’s way. You make a sport of it,” he accused.

“Well why do you at all? Put yourself in harm’s way I mean. You’re not a hero, so why do you do it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You hate teaching—and I’m not all that convinced you like Albus Dumbledore. You’re not a coward, but I don’t think you’re the sort of man to be swayed by “The Cause.” So why are you doing all this?”

“We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you and your dalliance with a creature that can snap your neck and drink your blood before you could raise a finger to stop him.”

She swung off the bed to face him, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing. “You sound jealous.”

“I do not.”

“First Lupin and now Sanguini?”

“That is the most ridiculous accusation…” 

The rest of his defense dwindled into hiss of pain as the mark on his arm flared to life, twisting with an ugly black fire. His suddenly numb fingers fumbled to roll down the sleeves and fasten the buttons as he watched the anger on Miranda’s face give way first to fear, and then to acceptance. She opened her mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it, and went out into the sitting room to collect his cloak for him. It took an age for him to don his frock coat and retrieve his mask from the armoire as he fought to bring his roiling emotions under some semblance of control.

His feet were like lead as he dragged himself to the door, and Miranda’s brave smile did little to cheer him. When he had his cloak in place, she impulsively threw her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth. He groaned pitifully as he pulled her against him; their embrace a fury of tongues and teeth as fierce as their argument had been.

“I can be here when you get back,” she said in a husky voice when they parted. “Or I can go if you think you’d rather be alone.”

“No. I want you to stay,” he replied, his own voice raw from choking back all the things he dared not say.

“Then I will.”

He traced a finger over her cheek and accepted the kiss that she pressed to his hand—a kiss that troubled him to the core of his battered heart. The mark on his arm continued to throb painfully as he paced outside the wards, breathing in the bitter night air and waiting for his mind to reach a place of indifference that _Occlumency_ required. It seemed to him that the longer this misadventure continued, the more difficult coming to that place became. His life had never been under his own dominion; but now it often felt to him that Lily, the Dark Lord, Albus, and Miranda were horses intent on drawing and quartering him alive.

*****

The plush delights of the private box on the Grand Tier of the Royal Opera House, and the glorious music of _Rigoletto_ did not quite assuage all of Miranda’s guilt that her companion for the evening was a sentimental vampire rather than a dour potions master. She was mildly annoyed at her conscience for smiting her and sullying what ought to have been an evening for decadence, and she was indulging in far more of Dante’s excellent cabernet in an effort to compensate. As the lights went up for the beginning of the interval, she knew she was well on the way to a headache in the morning, but she stubbornly stuck to her self-destructive course. Severus had no right to boss her around, and she was going to prove it by means of what was likely to be a wicked hangover.

“Tell me more about Giuseppe,” she said. There was nothing like hearing Verdi with a man who’d known him.

“There are those who would call him cold, but I liked him very well,” Dante replied. “Although he was at times a difficult partner at the card table. When the music would invade his brain, he would set everything aside until he’d jotted it down. I was there the night he sketched out that magnificent quartet.”

“That must have been thrilling.”

“It was. It’s a shame he would not let me bring him over.”

“Did you try?”

“Of course! A genius like that, to molder in a tomb. It’s a crime.”

He offered her a refill from the bottle of cabernet, which she accepted (although she probably shouldn’t have). His own glass he topped off with his preferred blend of merlot and type AB positive. 

“What did he say when you offered?” she asked, enjoying the buzz from the wine and the music.

“He said that only a fool wished to live forever in a body of dust and grime.”

His smile was sharp on his pale lips, and whether he was mocking the dead composer or himself, she wasn’t sure.

“I’ve never thought you were a fool, Dante.”

“I thank you for the compliment, and I hope that you will not behave so stupidly when I come for you.”

She shivered. “I didn’t know you were planning to.”

“I was. As long as you do not manage to destroy yourself so extensively that my kiss would be useless.”

She was flattered and horrified in almost equal measure. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. But I want you to know that I’ll probably give you the same answer that Giuseppe did.”

“How disappointing. Why would you do such a thing?”

“I have my reasons.” She swirled the crimson liquid in her goblet, and the movement (or perhaps the conversation) made her head swim. “Do you mind if we change the subject? I hate talking about death at the opera.”

“And I adore it. But you are my guest, and I will indulge you. Tell me about your current projects. Hunting any other cousins of mine?”

“No, not lately. I’ve moved on to werewolves and Death Eaters.”

He raised his mocking eyebrows at her. “I never thought you one to play the hero.”

“I’m not, it’s all about the money.”

“I’ve always appreciated that ruthless streak in you.” He took her hand in his, laughing as the chill of his touch raised gooseflesh on her arms. “Do watch that charming backside of yours.”

“I will. But if you happen across any information that would help me watch it better, I hope you’ll share it.”

“And what will you pay me in? Smiles?”

“If you’ll take them, they’re yours.”

He brought her hand up and rested her palm against his cheek, sighing melodramatically. 

“There is nothing quite like a warm hand when you are dead.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Is there something you’re getting at, or is all this a tease?”

He leaned down until his icy breath brushed her ear. “I have it on the best authority that a certain dark wizard is building an army of inferi.”

The chill that went through her had nothing to do with Dante’s breath. “How uninspired. Didn’t he do that last time?”

“His creativity is indeed lacking these days, but this new army will put the last one to shame.”

“Have you seen it?”

“I have.”

“Where is it?”

“It is moved by now.”

“By which you mean you aren’t going to tell me.”

“ _Topolina_ , I have told you enough already.”

He dipped his head and ran the edge of a sharp canine over the sensitive skin of her earlobe, and she put a finger on his cheek in warning.

“Thanks Dante, I do appreciate it. But I’m not going to fuck you tonight, even if you do cast a _tutela_ charm to keep yourself from killing me.”

“Tease,” he grumbled. “Why not?”

“I’m just not interested.”

His dark gaze was as penetrating as Remus Lupin’s—and she was just about sick of being studied like a side of beef.

“You have a lover,” he accused. “That accounts for the extra perfume. You didn’t want me to know. Why not? Are you ashamed of him?”

“No. I just didn’t want to talk about him.” God she was sick of everyone being in her business. It was almost enough to take up the mantle of celibacy for the rest of her live-long days.

Dante, bless him, seemed to catch on to her exasperation. “Then I shan’t ask you anymore about him.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Really.” The lights began to dim around them, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Dante, if I find myself needing a hand in the near future, will you help me? I’ll make it worth your while.”

He gave her a devilish smile. “Will you? Aren’t you afraid of what I might ask in return?”

She wasn’t fooled. “No. You’re a gentleman.”

“You wound me! But I could deny you nothing. Ask, and I will be there.”

“I knew I could count on you.” 

“Shh,” he grumbled as the curtain rose. “The opera!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a quote from Verdi’s opera Rigoletto. In the opera, the Duke sings this line in jest—but he pretty much is a monster.
> 
> The incantation to become an Animagus is taken from Pottermore. The textbook, the incantation to turn back (and the attending Latin mistakes) are mine. The process by which one becomes an Animagus is also from my imagination.


	7. rien ne m'est plus, plus ne m'est rien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nothing has meaning anymore

In the beginning, Lucius had been defiant. His audience may have been small, limited as it was to two-knut Hit Wizards and self-important prison controllers. He’d seen the director once upon his admittance to Azkaban (a skeletal man who’d smelled of onions) but not since. Lucius had sneered at all these little men (mudblood upstarts, half-breed drones, and blood traitors, every last one) and given them to understand in no uncertain terms that he was a _Malfoy_.

They had been…unimpressed.

His righteous anger had gotten him two weeks on bread and water alone, delivered twice a day through a slot in the wall of his cell by a disembodied and grimy hand. Ten paces by ten paces and lit by one guttering light in the center of the ceiling, the cell was designed to break the strongest of spirits, even without the Dementors soul-devouring help. Lucius didn’t stand a chance. When the first two weeks were up, and he’d been brought a bowl of luke-warm gruel, and he’d been horrified at how good it had tasted.

The great Lucius Malfoy—salivating over gruel.

By the end of the first month, he’d learned to dance to the controllers’ piping. If he was well-behaved, he was allowed a bucket to relieve himself in, and the cell block’s Hit Wizard (a puss-faced buffoon who couldn’t have passed the test to do _actual_ field work if his life depended on it) would vanish the mess twice a day when he brought the food. If he was disobedient or rude in any way, he was denied bucket, sanitation, and gruel. At first he’d been able perform the vanishing and cleaning spells himself, even without his wand. But as the millstone of time had pressed down on him, he’d lost both the ability—and then the will—to do so.

The question of how he’d managed to spectacularly snatch defeat from the jaws of victory tormented him during most of his waking moments. That is, when he wasn’t being tormented by the question of what had happened to his wife and son. For all he knew, they were dead. Perhaps even now they lay in the Malfoy tomb, decaying slowly into dust and slime. Or perhaps they’d been hastily buried in a pauper’s grave, that the name of Malfoy might be blotted out forever.

No, Lucius Malfoy did not require a Dementor guard to drive himself to despair—he dug that trench all on his own.

One day the skeletal director came in to see him (he knew because the man still smelled of onions and it turned his stomach).

“Malfoy, Lucius,” the director said. They were always addressed in this fashion, and Lucius had learned to snap to attention when his name was barked, or he’d be on the receiving end of some sort of lightening charm that was surely the _Crucio’s_ sadistic elder brother.

“Sir.” Stand up. Avoid pain. Keep your gruel.

“Your wife is here to see you.” How strange to hear such momentous news announced with the indifference of a weather report.

“My…wife?” 

“Yes. Your wife.” The director’s lips were thin and cruel, and the smile they twisted into made Lucius shiver. “And so appropriate too, it being Valentine’s Day. You may have ten minutes with her once she’s been searched.”

“Searched?” His mind was struggling to process the new stimuli. It had been toiling too long in the well worn paths of misery.

“Yes, searched. We can’t have her trying to slip you a wand, now can we? But chin up, ten minutes might even be long enough for a shag. Not that she’d want to do so on that nasty lump of a bed. Have you been using it for a chamber pot?”

“No sir.”

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you in spite of the smell.”

The thought of Narcissa seeing him as he was now—for he was every bit as vile as the director’s mocking smile implied—was unendurable.

“Sir, please tell her to go home,” he said, his eyes on the floor.

“What did you say?”

“I…don’t want her to see me this way.”

The director was silent for so long that Lucius was sure the man was torturing him on purpose; dragging out the moment before he forced the broken atheling to accept the humiliation of receiving his wife. But when the prisoner dared to glance up at his captor, he saw an understanding in the director’s eyes that made the fiend seem almost human.

“Good man,” the director said; and he left the cell before Lucius had the chance to change his mind.

Afterwards Lucius beat his fists against the wall until they bled freely. When he was too exhausted to continue thus, he fell onto the bed and buried his face in the putrid sheets to weep. When his fury at last was completely spent, he stared up at the ceiling, willing himself to die. But it seemed to him the more he tried to stop his heart, the harder the mutinous organ would beat. 

What on earth it would take to convince the stupid thing that nothing had any meaning anymore?

*****

The birds were singing merrily as they leapt from branch to branch. Although the trees were barren yet, the sun was shining with enough vigor to remind the world that spring would soon be coming to uproot winter and return life to the earth. Snowdrops peeked their shy faces through the puddles of melting snow, and here and there an early crocus exploded through the slush, proudly decked in royal purple. People were out and about everywhere with their hats clutched in their hands and their faces turned up to the sky, wishfully believing that it was warmer than the mercury claimed.

All in all, it was a terrible day for a funeral.

Isahak Lal dug his hands deep into the pocket of his robes as he stared at the ground on their way home from the cemetery. It seemed to him that everyone in the world was wandering through Diagon Alley today, and he stubbornly ignored the friendly greetings that the fine day drew from the lips of the unknowing shoppers. He also ignored the condolences that the shopkeepers stepped out of their doors to offer, even when Ammama tried to make him say thank you. Ammama started to scold him, but Appachan gave her a warning look, and maneuvered the boy to walk between them, that he might be spared from the stares of curious eyes.

Dosas was cold and silent today, and there were no sweet smells of onions and spices to greet them as they trudged up to their flat over the restaurant. Isahak dug his hands deeper into his pockets when Father Peter offered him a candle for the purification blessings. He’d already done his duty that day by covering his father’s face with the cloth before burial, and he refused to do anything else. Father Peter didn’t press him.

He did take the jeera when it was offered to him (he knew that Ammama could only be pushed so far) and the seed was as hard and bitter as his heart. He rolled it around on his tongue until the taste was gone, listening to Father Peter stumble over the words to the prayers. Father Skariah was not here to say them the right way, but then, everything was wrong today.

When the prayers were over, they passed a cup of fresh coconut water between them. It was musky and Isahak did not want to drink it—but it was a day for doing things he did not want to do. Appachan sat stiffly in his chair by the fire, his brown eyes as cold and empty as the restaurant downstairs. Isahak wondered if Appachan’s eyes would ever shine again.

At Ammama’s insistence, Father Peter took the other chair and Isahak had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting. That was Achan’s chair, and even if he was never going to sit in it again, what right did this priest have to take it? Ammama tried to pull him down on the sofa with her, but he jerked his arm away and sat far away from her on the very edge. He did not want to be touched or cuddled now.

“Florian will be bringing us a little supper soon, Father,” said Ammama, her voice high and false. “You must stay and have some supper with us.”

“I will, thank you,” Father Peter replied.

Isahak glared at the priest, hating him and his owlish face. Who was he that he should be here on such a day?

“Yes, we’ll have a nice dinner,” Ammama said, brushing her gray hair out of her face. “Florian is a decent cook. He took care of us after Meera died, and he’ll take good care of us now.”

“Florian Fortescue is a fine man,” Father Peter agreed.

“Anita and Dexter must be happy to have a vacation today,” Ammama continued. “No tables to wait or floors to sweep.”

“Nobody is happy today, Ammama,” Isahak muttered.

“What?” Ammama’s lip trembled dangerously, until she gave a laugh as false as her cheerful tone. “Hush, child. You will feel better once you have eaten. And then Appachan will read to you from the little book that you and Achan were reading, and everything will be as good as it can be.”

Isahak could stand it no longer. He sprang from the couch, snatched the little book from the pile on the coffee table, and threw it across the room.

“I am _not_ going to eat, and I am _not_ going to read, and _nothing_ will ever be good again!” he shouted.

“Isahak!” Ammama scolded, but he fled from the room.

“Let him be, Sara,” said Appachan.

Isahak ran to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. He knew that Ammama would leave him alone now, and he threw himself on the bed, punching the pillow and crying angry tears. He did not understand why Achan had died, and he was not sure that anyone else understood it either. It was something that the grown-ups talked about in whispers whenever he went out of the room. Amma had been ill for all of her life, and now he could not remember much more than her smile, and the way she’d smelled of cardamom and cinnamon. But Achan had been strong. It made no sense that he should be fine one day and dead the next.

Eventually he grew tired of punching the pillow, and he got up to close the curtains and block out the afternoon sun. It was the sort of day that Achan would have taken him to Mr Fortescue’s to watch the ice cream being made. It was the sort of day that Achan would have said was made for discovering all the wonders of the world.

But Achan was gone now, and without him, Isahak could not see any use for the world at all.

*****

“Severus, I wasn’t expecting you,” Miranda said cheerfully as she opened the cabin door to the winter night.

“My apologies for the disappointment,” he replied, careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible. It wouldn’t do to startle her yet.

“You’re not disappointing me at all. I’m happy to have an excuse to stop working on the tebo tunic. You wouldn’t believe how much of a pain it is to stitch together.”

She kept up a steady stream of chatter about something called “spring training” as she returned her project to a dress form in the corner by the potions closet. He doubted he would understand what she was yammering on about, even if he’d had the capacity to listen. A woman’s voice keened from the turntable, pleading with someone called Jolene, and he switched it off with an angry flick of one long finger. There was a roaring in his ears that made any extra noise unbearable, and he swatted away the music like a fly.

As she swept her needles and thread from coffee table to sewing box, she glanced up at him curiously.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Define alright,” he replied.

She tilted her head to one side. “Is this going to be a tea conversation, or a whiskey conversation?”

“Why not both?”

“That’s fine,” she agreed slowly. “We can do both.”

She skirted past him to the stove to start the tea, moving as though he were an animal she was trying not to startle. He was unsurprised. Her instincts were superior to those of most of the idiots he had the misfortune of knowing, and despite his efforts at controlling himself, even he could hear the raw edge to his voice. He paced over to the dress form while she gathered the things for whiskey and tea, glaring at the tebo hide draped over it. As soon as Healer A’isha gave Miranda leave, the foolish witch would be out among the werewolves, blithely risking her neck without a care in the world. He ran a hand over the rough hide, and his finger caught on a pin. First blood to Miranda.

“Are you going to join me?” she asked when the drinks were on the table.

They sat down together, and he stared wordlessly at the perfectly brewed mixture of tea and clotted cream in his cup. Earlier in their relationship, she would have peppered him with questions, but now she waited patiently for him to talk. He despised her for making him comfortable, and he despised himself for both desiring and refusing her efforts. 

“I’ve had a meeting with Albus,” he said at last. His voice sounded oddly disembodied, even to his own ears.

“A bad one?” she asked sympathetically.

“To put it mildly.”

“May I ask what happened?”

The chaotic fury whirling in his chest twisted its ugly head towards a single target, and he lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Miranda, what are your thoughts on the subject of trust?”

Her left shoulder tensed, and he knew her guard was up. 

“Trust?” she repeated, pulling her cigarette case out of her pocket and fidgeting with it until he plucked it out of her hand. Her eyebrows went up in question, and he smoothly retrieved a pair of cigarettes and lit them with two sharp snaps of his fingers.

“Trust,” he prompted.

“In what context?” Parry.

“An academic one.” Thrust.

“Academically, trust is earned initially by reputation and ultimately by experience.”

“Brava. And, would you say that it is possible to regain trust once it has been lost? Academically speaking, of course.”

One of her stocking-clad feet was tapping on the floor beneath the table, and he poured out a measure of whiskey for them both, leaving the tea to go cold and spoiled. She took a deep drink of the amber liquor, her eyes never leaving his for an instant.

“I think so,” she replied at last.

“Interesting.”

“You disagree?”

“I must admit I have yet to decide. But I find it interesting that you hold such a belief, when you so clearly do not trust me.”

“I’m sorry? I’ve told you many times that I trust you.” Her brow furrowed as she studied him, and then her eyes widened with understanding. “But Albus doesn’t.”

“No. Amusing, is it not? He blathers on to anyone who will listen about my trustworthiness. That I am a changed man and not to be judged by my…youthful indiscretions. No one believes him, not even the Dark Lord. I should have known that this was because he did not believe it himself.”

“What did he do?”

Severus paused to drink deeply from his glass, savoring the way the alcohol burned down to his bilious stomach. 

“He’s been closeted with _Potter_ since term began, preparing the boy for some plan that he will not disclose to me. _I_ , one of his greatest assets. _I_ , who have risked my life on his orders time and time again. Instead he confides in a child with no _Occlumency_ skills, and whose powers are mediocre at best.”

“That must be infuriating.” 

“In fact it is. Particularly since among my many duties is the task of keeping the boy alive.” His voice began to shake and he fought to control it. “A task that Albus undermines at every turn.”

“I don’t blame you for being upset. I’d be angry too.”

She refilled their glasses, and her left shoulder relaxed. Excellent.

“Yes,” he said ironically, “it is always disappointing when one’s life becomes a lie. A shock no matter how many times it happens.”

“What do you mean?”

How marvelous. Her concern for him disarmed her completely—she was defenseless now. 

“You must understand,” he said conspiratorially, “that what I am going to tell you must be kept under the strictest confidence. I would even go so far as to _Obliviate_ you myself if I thought for an instant I could not trust you to keep quiet.”

“I understand.”

Her mind was so open now that, were it not for the wall guarding her, he might have dipped into it without any incantation at all. He could feel her sympathy vibrating out to him. Pity he had no use for it now.

“When the Dark Lord attempted to murder the Potter boy, the child was protected because Lily…” Severus’s voice broke, and it was a moment before he could continue. “Because his mother gave her life to save him. The spell rebounded off the living child to the caster, and it _should_ have killed him. But by some foul trick, the Dark Lord’s soul split—and a piece of it found a new home inside Potter.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

“I think it had very little to do with _him_.”

“But that’s why the Dark Lord was able to come back.”

“Precisely.”

“And that would mean…in order for him to be killed…”

“That the boy must die as well.”

Part of him softened at the sight of her horror, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and accept the comfort she would surely give to him, if only he were able to ask for it. But his rage was unstoppable now—a viper poised and ready to strike.

“Severus, I’m so sorry. He shouldn’t have kept that from you.”

She put her hand over his, and this tender touch wounded him more than the _Cruciatus_ ever had. He closed his hand around hers, and sprung the trap he’d laid.

“Are you?” he asked. “I had rather thought your sympathies would lie with Albus.”

“Why would you think that? You know I hate the way that Albus plays with people.”

“How perfectly hypocritical of you. My compliments.”

She tried to pull her hand away, but he refused to let go.

“You’re obviously driving at something specific,” she said angrily. “Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“You do lack an appreciation for subtly. Let me make my meaning plain, then. I do not believe for an instant that you trust me. If you did, _you_ would have told me about your son Isaac, instead of allowing me to learn of his existence from Catalina Dragnea.”

She wrenched her hand out of his grasp and sprang up from the table.

“Get out,” she ordered.

“No, I don’t believe I shall. When were you planning to tell me about him?” A dark thrill of power joined the fury in his chest. He had her now. 

“I wasn’t going to tell you about him ever.”

“As I suspected. You do see how laughable this makes your protestations of trust?”

“I said _get out_.”

He rose and stalked around the table towards her, a cruel smile playing on his lips. She’d apparently lost the capability of strategizing—retreating until her back was against the door—and he placed a palm on either side of her head, trapping her completely.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded softly.

“It’s not just you,” she said harshly. “I don’t talk about him with anybody. I only told Catalina because she brought up the subject, and even then I only told her enough to get her to shut up about it.”

“You don’t talk about your own son with _anybody_? What kind of a mother _are_ you?”

A flash of white light exploded between them, throwing him across the room. He stumbled into a bookshelf, sending glassware to the floor where it shattered. Miranda’s magic whipped around her, sparking through her unbound hair as she stormed towards him. She grabbed the front of his frock coat, and pulled him down until they were nose to nose.

“My son is _dead_ you sick fuck,” she spat.

Dear Merlin, what had he done?

“Why did you lie to Dragnea about him?” he demanded, scrambling for purchase as the ground crumbled beneath his feet.

“All I told her was his name, and when he was born.” She made a rasping sound, but no tears came to soften the blow. “And I’d beg your pardon for not wanting to talk—to anyone—about the part where my boy died without ever getting to live at all. Except you haven’t got a heart to give it with.”

“Miranda, I…”

“Shut up! And get out.”

She let go of his coat with a violence that tore free one of the buttons. It clattered to the floor where it lay amid the shards of glass, a testament to an evening’s work well done. For the second time in his life, Severus stood facing the woman he loved, knowing she was wounded, and that he’d been the one to do the wounding. Now, as then, he’d have sold his soul to have unsaid his venomous words. Unfortunately now, as then, the devil was not in a bargaining mood.

He did as he was bid, leaving her without another word, and he wandered for a time along the chalk cliffs by her cabin. The ocean crashed endlessly on the shore, mindless, dark, and vast. At some point during the small hours of the night he returned to his rooms, where the silence was so loud as to ring in his ears. A book of verse lay open on his desk, mocking him with remnants of the morning’s good intentions. He’d been debating copying out a poem for Miranda and tucking it into one of her books for her to discover and perhaps to be pleased by. Then Albus had begged his company on a walk, and by the end of the night, any meaning in his life had burned to ash before his eyes.

_Je suis desja d’amour tanné,_

_Ma tres doulce Valentinée,_

He closed the book and put it away on the highest shelf, out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is the motto adopted by Valentine of Milan upon the death of her husband, Louis d’Orléans.
> 
> Ammama: Grandmother  
> Appachan: Grandfather  
> Achan: Father  
> Amma: Mother  
> jeera: cumin seed
> 
> Isahak Lal is the son of Meera and Yakov Lal. You can read their story in all i was doing was breathing.
> 
> The spring training Miranda is talking about is, of course, referring to baseball.
> 
> The poem on Severus’s desk is A Farewell to Love by Charles, duc D’Orléans, the son of Louis and Valentine. Here is the full poem in English:
> 
> I am already sick of love,
> 
> My very gentle Valentine
> 
> Since for me you were born too late,
> 
> And I for you was born too soon.
> 
> God forgives him who has estranged
> 
> Me from you for the whole year.
> 
> I am already sick of love,
> 
> My very gentle Valentine.
> 
> Well might I have suspected
> 
> That such a destiny,
> 
> Thus would have happened this day,
> 
> How much that Love would have commanded.
> 
> I am already sick of love,
> 
> My very gentle Valentine.


	8. ultimatum

Severus’s world might have ended the night before, and his head might feel like an overripe watermelon liable to split open at the slightest provocation, and he might be operating on a single hour of broken sleep, but none of this changed the fact that he was expected in the Great Hall at ten o’clock in the morning to baby-sit a group of inept teenagers attempting to bungle their way through an Apparition lesson. Every step he took as he slunk up the winding staircase from his pit of despair sent a fresh jolt of pain lashing through his already pounding skull. His stomach was roiling from the quantity of gin he’d fed it during the small hours of the morning, (gin was now on the list of liquor he would _never_ touch again, right under pálinka) along with the Hang Over Potion and black coffee he’d forced on it this morning (how could Miranda stand to drink coffee every day?)

The internal critique of Miranda’s drinking habits was quickly replaced by the memory of how wide her eyes had been when he’d cut her to the quick less than twelve hours prior, and his stomach dropped violently as he once again replayed the whole wretched scene. Humiliation and guilt wrapped themselves around his heart, strangling him with their familiar fingers. A new throbbing from a fresh and dripping wound joined them; for surely if he ever saw Miranda again, it would only be to formally end their volatile association. He knew what came of offering apologies to furious women.

As he gained the top of the staircase, a snarl of angry voices derailed his brooding. It did no favors for his headache or his nerves, but his smarting conscience was eager for any distraction, however unpleasant. A tangle of students had formed around the quarreling parties, and as he cut through them, he was unsurprised to see Draco Malfoy sneering at a red-faced Harry Potter. Did the brats never tire of baiting one another?

“…were you doing on the seventh floor Malfoy,” Harry spat, his glasses slipping down to the end of his nose.

“I don’t know who died and made you the keeper of the school,” Draco replied. His voice was cool, but Severus could hear the edge in it, and he knew that the boy was close to losing his temper. “Are you keen for Filch’s job when you graduate? Maybe you can be his assistant, I hear you’re already a master at scrubbing bedpans.”

Severus was within arm’s reach of the boys, neither of whom seemed to notice his approach. Harry was in the midst of some retort that had both adversaries reaching for their wands; but Severus could not make out what it was the infant was saying. At that moment Harry’s eyes were flashing like Lily’s often had when she’d been in a high temper. Severus was frozen by them, unable to cope with the fresh flood of grief that washed over him. 

For the last fifteen years, the sole purpose of his life had been to ensure that the Boy Who Lived continued to do so. Now he knew that this had been yet one more wasted purpose, for in a cruel twist of fate it seemed he was only meant to keep the boy alive in order to present the child for sacrifice at the proper moment. Albus’s dupe once more, Severus stood face to face with his failure now, this boy who wore Lily’s eyes, and felt the earth shift beneath his feet. Students buzzed around him like so many flies, eager to see the altercation escalate to a brawl, and as he fought to maintain control of his countenance a deep, cold anger coiled itself around his grief. He felt his lip curl, and he opened his mouth to vent some of his unbearable anguish on the students before him, when a mousey Slytherin darted out of the shadows to defuse the situation. 

“Draco!” said Cassandra Borgin as she inserted herself between the warring factions. “I’m so glad I caught you. I have a question about Professor Slughorn’s assignment and I was hoping you could explain it to me before the lesson starts.”

Draco and Harry continued to glare at each other, even as Cassandra took Draco’s arm and began pulling him inside the Great Hall—but the spell was broken. The rest of the students broke off into their own conversations, and Harry and Severus were swept into the room with the rest of the group. Severus’s attention was fixed on Harry, who shot daggers at his professor with those cursed green eyes until the Weasley boy and the Granger girl pulled him away to a trio of empty hoops in the far corner, whispering furiously as they did. Severus stalked to the front of the room to take his place beside the other heads of house, and the bland ministry worker tasked with training this year’s Apparition aspirants, feeling quite ready to be ill all over the stone floor. As the ministry worker launched into a review of the last lesson (why bother reviewing—the lessons were all the same, and talking about Apparition never made it any easier) Severus attempted to compensate for his suddenly precarious balance by leaning against the wall without appearing to do so. Minerva’s sharp eyes were not fooled by his feigned nonchalance, and she edged close enough to him for a whispered conversation.

“Is something amiss?” asked Minerva, her eyes firmly on the students.

“Nothing that need concern you,” he replied. Merlin, how he would like to enlighten Minerva as to the Potter boy’s fate, and set her on Albus like an avenging angel of doom. 

“Somehow I do not find that reassuring.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She gave him a sidelong look, but changed the subject without pressing for further information. “Albus wished for me to pass on his request for your help this week. It concerns Remus Lupin and the American witch Miranda Rose.”

His stomach lurched again, and he vowed that the instant this lesson was over, he would be taking himself to Albus’s office to demand that they find a better way, both for the Potter problem and for the werewolf disaster waiting to happen. Surely between his brains and Albus’s experience they could come up with some other option.

“Did he?” he said in a carefully neutral tone. “I shall go up and ask him about it after lesson.”

Minerva pursed her lips. “Don’t bother. He’s gone off again, and he didn’t say when he’d be back. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he keeps going?”

Damn him. “No. Not in the least.”

“Mark my words, Severus, this chronic secrecy is going to be the death of us.”

He had no desire to contemplate how prescient he suspected her prophesy was, and he closed his eyes briefly as a chill melancholy set in. 

“I am at your disposal, Minerva,” he said, making no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Simply ask and I will be there.”

A shrill cry rent the tension in the air, and Severus’s taut reflexes sent him across the room before the first shriek could die away. Lavender Brown was swaying dizzily inside her hoop, looking round stupidly for her pinky finger, and screaming in terror. Severus snatched up the finger and began chanting the spell to reattach it. The entire operation took less than a minute, and it took ten times as long to quiet the overwrought Gryffindor.

If only he might reassemble his own life mangled life half so easily.

*****

Miranda approached Number Twelve Grimmauld Place late on Wednesday, cloaked in righteous anger and more than a little buzzed from an evening at Prospero’s night club. The dancing, darts, and drinking had done nothing to sooth her fury or her pain on this evening—or any other evening since Severus’s decision to rip her still-beating heart out of her chest—but she continued to attend the den of questionable repute with the devotion of a convert. She was like a shark, constantly moving out of necessity rather than desire; and like a shark, she was more than ready to bite.

“ _Filth_! _Impurity_!” cried the matron in the portrait guarding the front door to the tattered building.

“Shut up,” Miranda replied, blowing a line of smoke into the painted face as she went by.

“Why, I never…” the portrait coughed, but Miranda didn’t wait to hear anymore complaints.

She let her steps fall loudly on the stairs as she went down into the basement kitchen, pausing only to crush one cigarette butt beneath the heel of her boot and light another before entering the fire-lit glow of the Order’s makeshift headquarters. Auror Moody was deep in conversation with Minerva, but his enchanted eye whirred around to take note of Miranda’s presence (and, she suspected, scan her for unexpected surprises). An ill-looking Remus and a morose Tonks sat across from each other at the rough table, talking quietly, even as they pointedly avoided each other’s eyes. Remus glanced up at Miranda, and she took this for invitation to join the conversation (or perhaps to rescue him from it). 

As she slid into the empty seat at the head of the table, she realized that the Order member she’d vainly hoped to avoid was present, lurking in a shadowy corner with his arms crossed. She felt his black eyes on her before she saw him, and though her face flushed from anger and frustration, she refused to give him the pleasure of acknowledging his pointed stare. Remus’s nose twitched as she exhaled a cloud of smoke, and he stifled a cough.

“Must you smoke down here?” he grumbled.

“Tonight?” Miranda replied. “I’m afraid so. How are you Auror Tonks?”

“Fine,” Tonks said with a half-hearted shrug. 

“Happy to hear it. How goes the patrol at the school?”

“Fine. Things have been quiet.” 

Tonks’s reply was cagey enough to catch Miranda’s attention, and if she’d been more sober, or less angry, she might have taken the time to suss out why. Minerva took charge of the room before the American could gather the will to delve into someone else’s problems. 

“That will be all Alastor,” Minerva said. “Thank you.”

“Watch this one, Minerva,” Alastor said, his eye still fixed on Miranda. “She’s a slippery witch if ever I saw one.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Auror Moody,” Miranda said, tapping the end of her cigarette and letting the ash fall haphazardly on the table. 

“No, it’s a useful thing, so long as it’s being used for your side. Good night.”

Alastor tromped out of the room, his uneven gait echoing on the stairs after him. Minerva gazed calmly at the remaining group, ensuring she had everyone’s attention before she continued speaking; the consummate professor. Remus and Tonks sat up straighter as her eyes passed over them, and Miranda sank back in her chair in defiance. Severus kept to his place in the corner, one hand resting on a counter and his fingers tapping restlessly, betraying his discomfort. Good. He deserved to feel uncomfortable—and worse.

“Thank you for taking the time to be here tonight, I realize that each of you is carrying a heavy load,” Minerva began, “and so I will be brief.”

“That’s appreciated. I’m supposed to go on shift in an hour,” Miranda said.

“It will go more quickly the less you interrupt,” Minerva replied.

“Right, right,” Miranda muttered.

“I’ve asked you here to request your participation in a test mission on Saturday evening. You will be relieved of any other duties that may conflict with this, on Albus’s orders,” Minerva explained.

“What sort of test?” Miranda asked.

“Miranda, let her talk,” Remus said.

“I’m not stopping her,” Miranda protested.

“Miranda, please,” Minerva chided.

Miranda glared, but bit her tongue. Severus had yet to say a single word, and his enigmatic gaze was driving her insane. 

“For those of you who may not be aware, Saturday is the full moon,” Minerva continued. “It is Albus’s plan for Miranda and Remus to spend Saturday night testing their ability to work together as wolf and animagus.”

“How nice for them,” Tonks said irritably.

Minerva ignored her. “Severus, Tonks: Albus would like for you both to be on hand that night, to help ensure Miranda’s safety.”

“There’s no need to waste everyone’s time like this,” Miranda said. “I’m ready, I don’t need to be baby-sat.”

“If you weren’t ready, we wouldn’t be discussing this at all,” Minerva replied. 

“I’m sure that Auror Tonks and Professor Snape have better things they could be doing,” Miranda argued. “There’s no need to put that many cooks in the kitchen.”

“You might not see a need, but _I_ do,” Remus said. “I don’t expect there to be any trouble, but if there is, I don’t need eating you to be on my conscience. Besides, you’d probably give me indigestion.”

Miranda snorted. “That’s for certain. Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.”

“How kind of you to give us your permission,” Minerva said. 

“Just tell me when and where, so I can get going,” Miranda said.

“You’ll be starting at the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. Be there an hour before sundown,” Minerva replied.

“We’re going to be stuck indoors all night? That sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Miranda objected.

“When and _if_ Tonks and I have discerned that the situation is under control, we will release you to the Forbidden Forest,” Severus said.

His voice sent a chill down her spine, and whether it was from pleasure or pain she could not tell. She held his gaze in silence for a long moment, and then ground out her cigarette on the table top.

“Peachy,” she said, rising from her chair. “I’ll be there. Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment,” Minerva replied. “And Miranda, don’t be late.”

“I hear you. Goodnight.”

Miranda started for the exit and heard Minerva fall into conversation with Remus and Tonks. When Severus did not appear to join them, she took the stairs two at a time, fleeing from him even before she could confirm that he was planning to follow her. By the time she hit the street outside the house, she was running shamelessly, heading for the alley. As she rounded the corner, she caught a flash of a black cloak and heard her name spoken by a silky voice, but she vanished—hurling herself into the blackness of Apparition and escape.

*****

Miranda spent the night at the Lee’s flat at Aaron’s insistence. She had yet to share any of the recent events regarding Severus with her old friend, but he knew her well enough to see that she was skirting the line between recklessness and insanity a little too closely for prudence. She slept late, and though she was groggy in the morning, she was pleased to have escaped the headache that often accompanied too many nights of hard living. Rachel made her green tea and buttered toast, and talked of family affairs and _Onymoji_ history. When Maggie woke from her morning nap, the three of them went down to the subterranean play park a few floors beneath Aaron’s office. 

It was a slow day at the park, and Maggie was soon toddling between charmed toadstools that blew bubbles and giggled as she passed. Rachel and Miranda claimed a bench nearby, watching as Maggie popped bubbles and drummed on the toadstools to her heart’s content.

“I’m not trying to mother you, but Aaron wanted me to ask if everything was alright,” Rachel said when they were settled. “I think he was worried that something happened back home that you haven’t mentioned yet.”

“No, everyone’s fine, as far as I know,” Miranda replied lightly.

“I’m glad. I told him he didn’t need to fret.”

Miranda gave a mechanical laugh. “I hope he listened. Fussiness doesn’t suit him.”

“I wouldn’t call him fussy,” Rachel countered. “I think he’s just realized that no one lives forever. Something about becoming a father put things in a new perspective for him.”

“I’m sure that happens to a lot of men.” 

Maggie toddled over with a fist full of daisies, and Miranda started braiding them together to keep her trembling hands busy. Usually she could keep Isaac’s memory locked in the back of her mind and never think of him, but since Severus had thrust the child mercilessly back into her awareness, she’d been unable to push the thoughts of her boy aside.

“Did you and Severus do anything special for Valentine’s Day?” asked Rachel innocently.

Miranda ripped the head off of one of the daisies, crushing it in her fist without thinking. “You could say that.”

Rachel’s smile fell from her face. “Uh oh. Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Not really.”

“Do you _need_ to talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“What did he _do_?”

Miranda threw the crushed flower on the dirt floor and sucked in the dry air like a drowning woman.

“When I was in Romania, I wound up telling Catalina a little about Isaac. Just when he was born and his name. I didn’t tell her anything else about him, and she apparently assumed that he was alive somewhere.” Miranda’s words rushed out with dispassionate haste, as though she were describing something that had happened a lifetime ago to someone else entirely. 

“That was brave of you,” Rachel said kindly.

“It was stupid of me,” Miranda countered. “She told Severus about Isaac. I don’t know when, and I don’t know what all she said, but he’s been sitting there for months, thinking that I have a kid back in the States that not only have I been hiding from him, but that I’ve also not seen for the nearly two years I’ve been here.”

“Oh dear.”

“I mean, what kind of shit mother did he think I was? And how dare he sit there judging me because of some story he’d made up in his head that isn’t even true?”

She punched the park bench and one of her knuckles split just as Maggie teetered off the top of a toadstool and started to wail. Rachel hopped off the bench and scooped up her little one, bringing her back to nurse and comfort. By the time mother and child were in order, Miranda felt she’d regained control of at least her voice, if not her temper.

“He shouldn’t have made up stories about you,” Rachel said. “That was very wrong.”

“It was surreal,” Miranda replied. “I thought he’d come over to talk to me about some meeting with Albus that had gone sour, and instead he was there to accuse me of lying to him and being the most heartless mother ever to walk the face of the earth.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the tone of his voice when he said it. _Why didn’t you tell me?_ It was a real shit-show.”

“Did he apologize? Not that it would make it right, but it might mitigate the revenge I’ll have to extract as your friend.”

“No, I didn’t let him. I threw him out, and I’ve been avoiding him since then.”

Soothed from her misadventure, Maggie let go of her mother’s breast and squirmed down to go in search of more bubbles to pop. Rachel took a moment to put her clothing back in order before she spoke again.

“You mentioned that Severus had just come from a bad meeting with Albus,” Rachel began carefully.

“Oh, so now you’re taking his side?” Miranda snapped.

“No, I’m not. I’m just trying to understand what happened.”

Miranda closed her eyes, still struggling to breathe around the anger and pain that choked her. “Yes, Albus did him dirty right before he came over. I’m finding that Albus is one of those employers that you have to watch your back around.”

“I’m sorry to hear that; I know the type. But being upset doesn’t give Severus the excuse to take it out on you, especially in a way he must have known was likely to hurt you.”

“I don’t think he cares who he hurts.”

“I don’t know if that’s true, and I’m not saying that you have to forgive him. But—when you’re ready—I think you should give him the chance to apologize. If only to give you some closure.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Rachel reached across the bench and very gently took Miranda’s hand in hers. The kindness of the gesture cut Miranda to her heart, almost as painfully as Severus’s cruel words had.

“I’m also wondering—and forgive me if it’s none of my business—but why didn’t you tell him before?”

“What do you mean?” She knew exactly what Rachel meant, but God she didn’t want to go down this road with her.

“About Isaac. It was awful what happened to him and to you, but it’s one of the major events of your life. You’ve been close with Severus for a year and a half now. I guess I’m a little surprised that you never talked about it with him before now.”

Miranda snatched her hand out of Rachel’s like she was snatching it out of a fire. 

“We don’t talk about things like that. Never have,” she shrugged.

“What do you talk about?” 

Rachel was the only person of Miranda’s acquaintance who could have asked that question without sounding accusatory.

“Everything else. Books. Music. The exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. If it’s possible to actively choose to be a nihilist. I’ve told him lots of funny stories about school and growing up, and he’s told me a few of his own that were obviously curated not to make him look like an idiot. I mean, I did enough investigating when I met him to put together a decent timeline of his life, and I’m sure he’s done the same to me, but we’ve never actually talked about any of it.”

“Spying on each other, how romantic.”

“Well, maybe it is.”

“I wasn’t judging. How do you manage to keep up a relationship if you don’t talk about anything personal?”

Miranda bristled. “Not everyone is perfect like you and Aaron. Some of us have been through a lot of shit and we don’t want to talk about it.”

Rachel absorbed the blow stoically. “Talking about things is part of how you heal from them. I know, because Aaron and I aren’t perfect, and we’ve been through our share of shit too.”

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair of me to say.”

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“I just don’t know if I can stand to talk about any of this with Severus. I can’t even talk about it with you, and you’re the nicest person in the world.”

“I don’t know about that," Rachel laughed. "I’m not going to tell you what you have to do, but I don’t see how you can stay with Severus if you don’t talk at least a little about important things like this.”

“Maybe I don’t want to. I was doing fine on my own.”

“You were in a lot of ways.”

“Why am I sensing a but at the end of that statement?”

“Because you’re prescient. I guess I got the impression that lately you seemed a little more stable than you used to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that after David and Isaac passed, you seemed a little out of control. Almost like you didn’t care what happened to you—or maybe you even wanted to die. There was a wildness that was even more reckless than your usual wonderful, impulsive self. But since I’ve seen you with Severus, it’s seemed, to me at least, that you didn’t need to push yourself to cope anymore. You didn’t need to stay out all night for weeks on end, or chase danger constantly. There was an alertness about you, like you were waking up for the first time in a long while.”

“I don’t know if I want to wake up,” Miranda admitted quietly.

“I don’t blame you, it’s scary. But think about it before you make any final decisions.”

Miranda put her head in her hands and blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Why do you always have to make so much sense?”

“It’s a personal failing. I’m not saying that you have to stay with him, and I’ll support you either way. I just want you to be sure, whatever you choose.”

Maggie’s shrieks of laughter reached them, and they looked up to see her splashing into the fishpond, clothing and all. Rachel darted off the bench after her, and Miranda slumped back listlessly, wrung out by the warring emotions that were fighting for her soul. She supposed that she would eventually listen to whatever Severus had to say for himself. But she had no idea where to go from there, and it scared her. Losing David and Isaac had nearly killed her, and she’d promised that she would never put herself in that sort of vulnerable position again. And yet, here she was, in love with an ass of an Englishman who was in danger up to his eyeballs.

God, what an idiot she was.

*****

In spite of Minerva’s orders, as sundown approached on the night of the full moon, Severus, Tonks, and Remus were missing one American witch. The three of them were gathered in one of the decaying bedrooms of the Shrieking Shack, and Severus was doing his best to ignore the montage of vile memories that simply standing in the cursed place brought to the fore of his mind. Remus was pacing like the caged wolf that he was, while Tonks looked on, her hair flashing from mousey brown to a dull red as her temper grew thin.

“Looks like the Yank got cold feet,” Tonks said irritably. 

“She’ll show,” Remus replied. “You don’t know her.”

“And you do?”

“Well enough to know that she’ll show.”

“Well, if she doesn’t…”

“That’s enough, Tonks.”

Tonk’s hair flamed bright red for an instant at the rebuke, but as the door clanged open to admit the American in question, she crossed her arms and checked her retort.

“Sorry. Something came up,” Miranda said as she came into the room.

“Do I need to know about it?” Remus asked.

Miranda shook her head. “No, just another customer who thinks his time is more important than mine. What’s the plan?”

“You shift to animagus. Severus and Tonks put themselves out of reach, but not too far, and we hold our breath,” Remus explained.

Miranda’s eyes darted briefly to meet Severus’s, and he wondered if she’d delayed her arrival to avoid speaking with him yet again. 

“Thrilling.” Miranda gave Severus and Tonks a mocking salute, and as her arm came down her body contorted and shrank until she’d become a bobcat before their eyes.

“It’s time, I can feel it coming,” Remus said.

“Dare I ask if you’ve remembered to take your Wolfsbane Potion?” Severus asked.

“Why do you think you’re both here?” Remus replied.

“Come on, Snape,” Tonks said, heading for the door.

Miranda the bobcat was prowling the floor, and Severus watched her until Remus started to groan with the pain of the impending transformation. With a frustrated snarl, he followed Tonks out of the room, throwing the door shut behind him and reinforcing it with a shield charm. When the barricade was ready, he pulled a Graeae’s Eye from his robes and began to thread it through the crack between the top of the door and the doorframe. It was a tedious job, requiring more than a little coaxing lest the cornea tear and render the thing useless. Remus’s howls had taken on a distinctly lupine tenor by the time he managed complete his task. 

“Are they alright?” demanded Tonks, hovering around his elbow and trying to share the end of the optic fiber (never mind that these contraptions were only designed for one person to use at a time).

“Nothing has happened yet,” Severus replied, resisting the urge to shove the witch out of his space, but only just.

The inhuman baying from the locked room finally ceased, overtaken by a deadly silence. Severus muttered a curse, as they had neglected to leave a single candle burning in the room, and the uncooperative moon was at the wrong angle to shed much light on whatever was happening within. 

“Well?” Tonks said.

“Silence,” Severus ordered.

“You don’t have to be an arse about it. Give me a turn with the Eye and I won't have to keep asking you.”

“Precisely nothing is happening. Now be quiet.”

There was a scratching of claws across the wooden floor, and Miranda crept out of the shadows towards Remus. He snarled at her and snapped his teeth, and she arched her back, hissing and spitting. Severus’s wand was in his hand, and he was about to fling open the door, when Remus lowered his head to the ground. Miranda padded over to him, rubbing her forehead against his, and Severus let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Snape!” Tonks said.

“It would appear that Lupin has decided not to devour Miss Rose,” Severus replied. “At least, not at the moment.”

“We should let them out then, before he gets too agitated.”

Severus was dreading this part of the evening, but there was no avoiding it now. “Indeed.”

“Don’t look so glum, Snape,” Tonks said as she took up her broom and started down the corridor. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t have _fun_.”

Tonks’s mocking laugh followed her down the stairs and out of the Shack. Severus began counting the seconds until he might be reasonably sure that the Metamorph was in place. The werewolf and the animagus were beginning to prowl about the room irritably, but they thankfully made no move to vent this irritation on each other. Yet.

“Merlin, watch over her,” he murmured, and flicked his wand to open the window inside the room.

The captives bounded out to freedom almost the instant he’d opened the way. Heart pounding, he hastily wound up the Eye, unbarred the door, and dashed to the window. Remus and Miranda were loping towards the forest at break-neck speed, with Tonks keeping pace overhead on her broom. He swung out of the window and onto his own broom, which he gripped nervously in his white-knuckled fists. Flying on a broom was awkward and unwieldy; nothing at all like the thrill of unsupported flight. Unfortunately, unsupported flight was far too draining to use for an entire night’s watch. Especially if he might be called upon to subdue a werewolf.

He caught up to Tonks and the lunatics below as they entered the edge of the Forest. Remus and Miranda were bounding around like playful puppies, chasing each other through the underbrush and over the fallen trees. Tonks was watching them with an oddly benevolent expression on her face, and she even smiled at Severus when he drew his broom up next to hers.

“It’s nice to see him happy,” she said. “Being alone during the change is so hard on him.”

“If he takes it in his head to eat Miss Rose, I shall think his happiness comes at too dear a price,” he replied. 

Tonks bristled. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“If he’d taken the Wolfsbane, then it wouldn’t be an issue. But, then, he’s always been careless about such minor details as endangering the lives of others.”

“For someone who’s as familiar with the Wolfsbane Potion as you are, I would think that you’d understand that the side effects of it are nothing to scoff at. If I were in Remus’s shoes, I wouldn’t be so quick to swallow it either.”

With this she shot off into the forest, and he swung his broom in a wide path around her, fuming at her foolish words. He was well aware of the drawbacks of the potion—nausea, weakness, confusion—and he knew that taking it made experiencing the transformation to wolf all the more painful. But allowing a werewolf to romp freely, devouring people who wandered into his path was simply not acceptable.

It was a long and tedious night—though thankfully, an uneventful one. The greatest excitement came when Remus and Miranda felled a deer to feast upon. It was freezing and Severus spent many hours numb from the cold and the effort of maintaining his seat on his broom. Tonks refused to speak to him, for which he was grateful. 

Dawn came darkly in the forest, its rosy hue obscured by the dense tree branches overhead. The first indication that they had of its approach was Remus’s whimpering. Miranda scampered to his side, and he snapped at her at last, missing her leg by a whisker. Severus was on the ground in an instant, and only the knowledge that Tonks was watching kept him from sending a hex in retaliation. A potent brew of fury was bubbling up through his veins, fed by innumerable slights and hurts—but he restrained himself to casting a Shield Charm strong enough to shove the werewolf back. Miranda hissed at him, but he ignored her, outwardly calm and immovable as a statue, whatever the turmoil of his heart.

Within seconds, Remus was contorting back into human form, and Severus lowered the now unnecessary Charm. Tonks landed lightly beside him, and for once the werewolf did not protest her affections as she helped him gather himself back to some semblance of order. Miranda shifted up to her natural form behind Severus, only to fall back heavily against a wide tree trunk, gasping from the long night’s effort.

“See,” she said between pants, “everything was right as rain.”

“You did well,” Remus agreed, his eyes glinting at her across the forest path. “I think you’re ready.”

“I told you I was. Now go get some rest.”

He gave a weary laugh. “Yes, mother. Let’s go Tonks.”

Tonks gave Severus and Miranda a parting glare as she and Remus vanished with a loud crack that startled the birds from their nests. Severus and Miranda were alone at last for the first time since his horrific blunder, and for a moment he was unsure what to do with the boon. 

“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” Miranda said, breaking the uneasy silence.

He turned slowly to face her and felt his lip curve into a bitter smirk. “Obviously.”

When she did not attempt to stand, he hesitantly came to her and knelt by her side. Her gray eyes were hard with anger, but he did not look away from them. He pulled a chilled vial from his robes, and held it out to her, a peace offering, if a paltry one.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A variant on the Strengthening Solution. Minerva mentioned that staying so long in the animagus form would be taxing for the first few times you attempted it. This should mitigate most of that trouble,” he replied.

She stared at him silently for so long that he began to believe that she was going to refuse his efforts, and he tried unsuccessfully to swallow this rejection. But then she reached out and took it, drinking the amber liquid without further question. He knew that within minutes she would be well enough to flee from him. It was time to say whatever he had to say to her lest the opportunity never pass his way again.

“Miranda, I wish to tell you how deeply I regret what passed between us at your cabin a week ago,” he said, his words raw with forcing them through his clenched throat.

“That’s nice,” she replied. “Seems to me that if you regret it so much, you might have avoided doing it in the first place.”

He bent his head, accepting the words as a blow. “I am aware of that. I find it mortifying to have made such an amateurish mistake as believing Dragnea’s words without investigation. If I had performed even a cursory search, I might have spared us both much grief."

This appeared to be the wrong thing to say.

“That’s it? You’re sorry because you’re embarrassed? You’re a real peace of work, Severus.”

“No!” he protested quickly. “I’m sorry because I hurt you. I…ought not to have done it.”

She blinked at him, stunned. “Did you just apologize?”

“I believe that is what it is called in the vernacular.” The bite of sarcasm was creeping back into his voice, his only shield against his impending doom.

“No, shh,” she said, laying a finger over his lips. “Don’t say anymore, you’ll ruin it.”

He hadn’t realized until this moment how starved he was for her touch, and when she pulled her hand away from his mouth it took every ounce of his will to restrain himself from leaning towards her in an attempt to maintain contact. 

“I accept your apology. I forgive you, even. But that doesn’t change the fact that it happened.” Her eyes dropped to the empty vial in her hand, and when she looked back at him, they were full of sorrow. “The truth is, we have some serious problems. And I don’t know if they’re worth fixing.”

“I see.” Dread was opening its loathsome maw beneath him, and he was in free fall.

“I’m not sure you do.” She handed him back the vial, and he closed his fingers mechanically around it. “I need some more time to think. I’m leaving for a gig in Ireland on Monday. When I get back, we can talk and decide what we’re going to do.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I didn’t expect you to. We don’t have to talk about it at all; I’m not going to force you. I’m just telling you what I need.”

Part of him wished to tell her to go to the devil to spare himself the agony of waiting; but his desire to cling to whatever scraps of their association she might deign to give him was stronger still. He was trapped, and he knew it.

“As you like.”

“Thanks, I know that probably wasn’t easy for you to say. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Yes, you will.”

Her face softened briefly, and then she closed her eyes and vanished like the morning mist that burns away under the harsh light of day. Severus knelt on the forest floor for a long time after she was gone, his body far too heavy to move. The worst of it was, he’d dug this grave with his own two hands.

He had no one but himself to blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick note to let folks know that i'm focusing on my au [a more perfect life+](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/23661652/chapters/56798347) for july 2020 camp nano, along with a tasty little one shot. my plan is to work on my draft of this fic while I edit and post those other stories. I really do apologize for the delay, but my mental health simply isn't letting me work as quickly as I like to do.  
> you can follow my nano progress on [tumblr+](https://la-topolina.tumblr.com/post/622127451641987072/camp-nanowrimo-july-2020-edition-masterpost)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me--I really appreciate it <3


	9. At St Patrick's Purgatory

This was quickly becoming an adventure that Miranda had no intention of recounting to her pious mother. As she coaxed her boat, the patient _Molly Brown_ , through the moonlit waters of Lough Derg, intent on excavation and theft, she was almost ashamed of herself. If her mother ever found out that she’d come to the holy site on Station Island as little better than a cat burglar, she wasn’t sure she would ever live down the shame of having disappointed Monica Rose so severely.

The bitter night wind whipped through her cloak, and she pulled the traveling blanket more closely around her shivering body, pushing all questions of morality aside for another day. She’d been hired to do a job. She’d see it through to the end—and let the priest sort it out in confession for her later.

“No perfume tonight, _Topolina_?” Dante Sanguini asked. The pale moonlight made his face shine with an unearthly glow, and his constant shifting in his seat bespoke his discomfort on the water.

“Not while I’m working.” Miranda’s attention was divided between her companion and keeping the little boat upright with all his squirming. “I don’t guess you could hold still until we get to the island, could you?”

“Over this lake? No. And if I liked you less I would not have agreed to pass over this cursed water in the first place. Let alone twice in one evening.”

“Sorry about that. But I think you’ll find that I kept that difficulty in mind when I set your fee for tonight.”

“ _Si_ , you were more than generous. But I will be happy to leave this place behind.”

“Agreed.”

The water was choppy, and by the time she landed the boat ashore, even her usually stalwart stomach was queasy. Dante stumbled as his feet hit dry land, and he shuddered visibly, apparently as uncomfortable on the island as he’d been on the water. Miranda flattened and folded the boat as quickly as her numb fingers would allow, and by the time she had it stowed in a tunic pocket, the vampire had recovered himself. 

She braced her feet on the frozen ground to cast her disillusionment charm. An unpleasant, fuzzy feeling began in her toes and crept up her spine, where it settled at the base of her skull. It was disorienting to be unable to see her arms or legs as the charm caused her body to effectively disappear, but invisibility cloaks were as expensive as they were unreliable. 

“May we proceed?” Dante asked impatiently, his voice emitting from a shapeless fog that hovered around her. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Miranda replied.

In spite of the wind, there was a silence covering the island that felt accusatory to Miranda’s guilty conscience. As she trod over the dead grass, the soles of her feet pricked inside her boots. Over the tops of the barren trees, the cloister and the church gleamed in the moonlight; their modern renovations a sharp contrast to the feel of the ancient earth on which they stood. The arched sign emblazoned with _St_ _Patrick’s_ _Purgatory_ reminded Miranda more of the entrance to a theme park than a hell-mouth. As they went under the sign, the stinging in her feet became impossible to ignore. Acting on some impulse she did not understand, she paused beneath the arch and pulled off her boots and socks. The earth froze to her skin, but at least the damned pricking stopped as she spread out her bare toes in the frosty dirt.

“What are you doing?” the vampiric fog demanded softly.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back.

She could sense Dante’s disapproval, but they did not waste time arguing. As they moved over the well-kept path, she stuffed her boots into her knapsack. The lake lashed at the shore behind them, and even though she knew they were invisible to any mortal inhabitants, she could not shake the feeling that they were being watched. Soon her feet were numb, but she could not bring herself to put her boots back on, as though her pain might make up for some of her sacrilegious intentions. 

As they drew closer to the interior of the island, the lurking church and the surrounding trees blocked some of the wind. Miranda trotted silently over the path towards the curved labyrinth that was their destination. The vampiric fog kept pace with her easily, pricking her skin where it brushed her, even under the cover of the disillusionment charm. When they reached the edge of the maze, the fog solidified, Dante’s polished shoes crunching the brittle gravel into dust. Miranda released her charm, shaking off the magical invisibility and numbness as they darted through the twisting path towards its heart.

“Do you feel any better?” Miranda asked.

“No. Worse,” Dante replied.

They reached the center of the maze, and Miranda took the compass that Octavius Pepper had given her from her pocket. It was made of heavy brass, and etched with markings she’d been unable to decipher in the short amount of time it had been in her possession. Its arrow started to swing back and forth, moving languidly but showing no indication of settling anywhere. While they waited, Dante scuffed his shoe in the gravel, and his lip curled to reveal a single, pointed canine.

“Well?” he prompted.

Miranda opened her mouth to tell him to relax when the ground split open. Cursing, she reached blindly for Dante as she clung to the compass, even as the metal began to burn her hand. One of the vampire’s sinewy arms wrapped around her waist, hauling her roughly against his wiry frame. She put her arms around his neck, and though the rubble crashed over them, they glided slowly down into the darkness. The memory of the cave under the One Wood Church and its vengeful Spirit was at the fore of her mind, taunting her with its horrors. She buried her face in Dante’s shoulder and forced herself to breathe.

They landed lightly on a rocky floor. The moonlight filtered down through the gravel and dust that had been kicked up by the cave in, sickly and obscured by the depths. A tremor went through Miranda’s body as she realized how deep they must be, but she was determined to keep control of her mind tonight. Dante pressed his cool lips to her temple, and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze before releasing her. She dusted herself off quickly, and pulled her wand from her sleeve.

“ _Lumos_ ,” she cast.

Dante hissed and flinched back from the light. “Must you?”

“We can’t all see in the dark like you.”

“ _Figlio_ _di_ _puttana_ ,” he muttered.

“What was that?” she asked archly as she watched the wildly spinning needle of the compass.

“I said, which way do we go now?”

“I’m working on it.” The needle stopped all at once, pointing into the darkness. Miranda lifted her wand to see a narrow cleft in the rock, barely wide enough for them to pass through. “Fuck. Why do I keep taking these underground gigs?”

He laughed and took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm as though they were going for a stroll in the park. “For the money. And the company.”

His good humor was contagious in spite of her discomfort with the enclosed space and the gravely dirt that cut into the soles of her feet. “Excellent points. Tell me one of your yarns so that I won’t think about being trapped in this pit for all eternity.”

“Nothing would please me more. Have I told you about the first time I was in France?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Excellent.” Dante let go of her arm to enter the passage before her, but his calm, melodious voice betrayed no concern about the danger inherent in their current situation. “It was in 1389. I remember, because it was the year I turned fourteen, and we were escorting _La_ Contessa Valentina Visconti to finally be wed to Louis de Valois. She was as kind as she was beautiful, and whatever part of my heart that was not full of my path to knighthood was full of her.”

“You rogue. Did you steal her from Louis?”

“No. Everyone loved Louis, especially Valentina. It was enough to love them both from a distance, and to serve them. Life in Melun was good for a long time. I learned to ride, to fight, to write poetry, and to make love to the ladies of the court. I was quick at my studies and unimportant enough that I could slip away to explore on my own.”

“That sounds ideal.” The blue light from her wand cast dancing shadows on the wall, and there was a dread curling in the corner of her mind that one of those shadows would turn into a cat like the Spirit of the Mine. She pushed it down the best she could and listened to Dante’s voice. “Then what happened?”

“I saw battle and earned my knighthood five years later, in the year that Charles was born. I also met two men who were to change the course of my life, each in his own way.”

“Who were they?”

“One was a minstrel, a servant of Louis. His name was Herbelin, and I could have listened to him sing forever. We met in secret of course, but I was good at keeping secrets, even then. And it was amusing to watch the ladies swooning over his dark curls and merry laugh, knowing who it was he moaned for when there was none but the moon to see.”

“How delicious. And the other?”

“Was Nicolas Flamel, and of course his good wife Perenelle.”

“The man who made the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“The very one. A knight off the battlefield is little more than an errand boy, and there were many messages and manuscripts that flew back and forth between Nicolas and the royalty of France.”

“Did you ever get to see the stone?”

“I did. In fact… _Cazzo_!”

Dante disappeared, and Miranda had not taken a full step before she fell into the dank pit after him. She flailed once, but when she could not find the vampire in the darkness, she changed tactics, gathering her magic to cushion her fall and relaxing her body to be ready to roll when she hit bottom. The impact with the dirt floor knocked the wind out of her, and she coughed as she rolled into a crouch. Nothing leapt out of the darkness to pounce on her, except for a courtly vampire who graciously helped her to her feet.

“Are you in one piece, Topolina?” he asked with a dashing smile.

“I’m fine.” She wiped the dirt out of her eyes, and her hand came away bloody. “Mostly fine. Do you want to take care of that?”

His eyes turned completely black, glowing with an unearthly fire. “ _Ho_ _un_ _debole_ _per_ _te_.”

He ran his tongue over the wound on her forehead, a feral growl rumbling from his throat as he lapped at her blood. The gash tingled, healing under his Undead magic. A familiar thrill went down her spine as he nuzzled the side of her neck, grazing her flesh with the cold pressure of his lips, followed by a single, teasing canine. Guilt and desire tangled together inside her, and she stepped back a few paces to give herself space to breathe. She and Dante had been skirting the line of what even her flexible morality would call decent since they’d arrived in Ireland the night before, and angry as she was with Severus, she still wasn’t certain she wanted to cross it.

“We should keep going. There’s no telling what all is down here,” she said.

He extended his canines to their full length, and lisped like an actor in a melodrama, “I think you know exactly what is down here. Children of the night. My friends.”

As if in answer, a swarm of bats swooped down from the ceiling, chittering as they buzzed their new companions. Miranda ducked as they passed close to her head, hoping they would not tangle themselves in her hair, while Dante lifted his arms, welcoming his familiars. The bats danced around the vampire until Miranda started to laugh, and then flew off into the darkness beyond.

“ _Va_ _bene_ , there is the smile I like to see,” Dante said. 

“It’s good to have something to smile about,” Miranda admitted, turning her attention back to the compass. The arrow was pointing firmly in the direction the bats had taken. “It looks like your friends know the way.”

“As they should. _Andiamo_.”

The path was rough with brittle rock that crunched and snapped under them as they followed its twisting progress. Miranda knew without looking that her feet would be bruised and bloodied when they made it back to the surface, but some instinctive part of her brain insisted that she continue as she was. The longer they walked, the rougher the terrain became, snaking upwards at a sharp incline. Pacing her breathing became more difficult, and her fears were ever at the edge of her consciousness, tempting her to panic.

“I think you were telling me about the Philosopher’s Stone?” she panted when the imaginings became too much to bear.

“ _Allora_ , the stone. I only saw it once, when I was assisting Nicolas and Perenelle with their travel preparations. There were many who would have liked to claim the stone for themselves, and it required both an _Obscuro_ and to be tucked into Perenelle’s petticoats in order for them to slip away with it.”

“Where were they going in such a rush?”

“It was not the _where_ that was the trouble, it was the _who_. _Madama_ Bonne had a taste for the stone, and she was less than pleased when she was unable to put her hands on it.”

Miranda had met Bonne de Valois once. It had not been a pleasant experience. “I can imagine. How is _madama_ these days?”

He laughed. “I would steer clear of Italy for another decade or so, were I in your shoes.”

“Thanks for the warning. What happened to Herbelin? Did he become a vampire too?”

“No. He did not.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Not as sorry as I was. But I should go back to Louis. He was the beginning of the end.”

All at once they found themselves in a tiny room of packed dirt, the ceiling of which was so low that both of them had to stoop. A flickering green flame coming from an unknown source lit the space, revealing a mattress of rotting straw, a decaying bowl and spoon on a sagging shelf, and little else. The walls were painted with faded pictures in the ancient Celtic style, and between the crosses and saints were letters spelling out texts too worn to read.

“This is the place,” Miranda said, sliding the compass into a pocket. 

Dante’s canines were showing. “I was afraid of that.”

“We’d better work fast.”

She chanted the incantation that Mr Pepper had drilled into her a few days earlier, singing through its chromatic tones in a clear, silvery voice. A white light burst out of the tip of her wand, wrapped itself around the straw mattress, and lifted it off the floor. Another light joined the first, piercing the floor under the mattress until a thin crack appeared. Dante flexed his fingers as they stretched into evil looking claws, and crouched over the crack in the floor to dig into the dry dirt. Miranda’s body flashed hot and cold as she struggled to keep the bed aloft, sweat rolling down her face and neck. The green light began to spin, causing her stomach to lurch. A buzzing chatter droned in the room, and she felt fingers curling around her ankles. She looked down in horror, but saw nothing. Then she blinked, and saw the gnarled hands pulling on her legs; but when she blinked again—there was nothing. 

She fought down the urge to scream as Dante jerked a heavy length of rusted chain from the hole he’d dug. He stumbled backwards, grunting as he landed on his backside. Miranda waved a shaking hand, sending a spell to push the dirt back into the hole, then she lowered the bed with a thunk. Still trembling, she opened her bag for Dante to shove the chain into. His teeth were bared with the effort, a red-tinted sweat covered his brow, and his hands look like they’d been burned.

“Are you alright?” Miranda asked as she closed the bag tightly around the chain.

“Never better,” he snarled.

“Are you going to need a drink before we go back over the water?”

He his eyes flashed with a black, hungry fire. “I appreciate the offer, but if I were to start drinking from you now I doubt I would be able to stop. The sooner we get off this island, the better.”

“No shit.”

Miranda took out the compass, stamping her feet in an attempt to shake off the feeling of ghostly fingers. The needle started spinning again, and showed no signs of stopping.

“You don’t think we have to go all the way back down, do we?” she asked.

“We are close to the surface now,” Dante replied. “I can dig us out if need be.”

She paced towards the far wall, unable to remain still any longer. A spiral drawn in a dull red caught her attention, undulating in the flickering light. She traced a careless finger over it, and the spectral flames engulfed her. A scream welled up in her throat, but when she opened her mouth she could only choke on the sulfurous smoke. Hands grabbed at her ankles and wrists; and there was a wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And then there was darkness.

*****

Miranda’s body was terribly sore when she opened her eyes again. She was lying on a narrow bed with clean, coarse sheets and a warm, quilted blanket; and she could feel that someone had taken the trouble to wrap her feet in bandages. The small room was plain, with a crucifix on the facing wall and a little window letting in bright, welcome sunlight. A desk with a lamp and chair completed the space, and her arsenal of pistol, knife, and wand was laid out neatly on top of the desk. Her knapsack sat safely beside the bed, apparently untouched. Wincing, she pushed herself up, meaning to check the bag for their night’s work, when the door to the room opened.

A man in a rough brown robe and worn sandals entered. His curly brown hair was tinged with gray, and his lined face wore a friendly smile. She guessed he was about her father’s age, and his green eyes were bright and kind. He carried a tray set with a teapot and cup, brown bread, and a steaming bowl of soup. Her mouth started to water and her stomach to growl at the homey aroma.

“Good morning, lass,” he said, placing the tray on her lap. “Welcome to Station Island. I think you’ve had quite a time of it.”

She gave him a bland smile. “Good morning, Father. It was about what I expected it to be.”

“I’m no priest, only a simple friar. Brother Ronan, at your service.”

“Thank you.” 

Brother Ronan turned to pull the chair out from the desk and bring it to her bedside. While he was busy with his task, she quickly cast a silent _revelio_ _venenum_ , musing that she’d been spending so much time with Severus his habits were rubbing off on her. Her instincts told her that Brother Ronan was trustworthy enough, but his casual acceptance of her magical artifacts—along with her missing vampire—were enough to give her pause.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said between grateful bites of the hearty soup. “I’m Miranda Rose.”

“Rose you say? You aren’t from County Cork by chance, are you?” he asked as he sat down in the chair to keep her company while she ate.

“Originally, yes. But my line of the family has been in America for four generations now.”

“America? I was there once. It’s a fine country. I wouldn’t want to live there, but I’d not be sorry to visit again someday.”

His easy manner prompted her to be more direct. 

“May I ask you how I came to be…wherever it is we are?” she asked.

“This is the pilgrim’s dormitory. I found you and your friend on my way in from Matins. There aren’t many of us here in the off months, but we like to say the hours together in the main church even so.”

“What happened to my friend?”

“I thought it best to give him a room in the basement.”

She raised her eyebrows, but kept her tone even, wondering if she was going to have to _Obliviate_ the friendly friar. “Are you a wizard, Brother Ronan?”

He laughed as though she’d told a fine joke. “Me? No, not at all. But your friend is not the first vampire I’ve seen in my life, nor are you the first witch. He helped me bring you here, and I gave him a bottle of the sort of drink he needs, and a room in the cellar for the day. It was too close to dawn to risk taking you both off the island.”

“Why are you helping us?”

“It’s my duty to help those who need it. I suggest you eat and rest as much as you can for now.”

“Will we be allowed to leave tonight?”

“You’re not a prisoner, Miss Rose. You and your friend may leave at any time.”

His kindness prompted a new wave of guilt, but she carefully concealed her shame. 

“Thank you Brother Ronan. We appreciate your help.”

“I’m glad I was here to give it. Is this your first time to Station Island?”

“It is. My first time to Ireland at all, actually.”

His voice took on a note of pride like a fond parent. “You should come back in the summer. Everything is green and you could do the actual pilgrimage then. I suspect you’re hearty enough.”

“The pilgrimage?”

“Three days of fasting and prayer, and the pilgrims visit all the old hermitages of the saints.”

“That sounds grueling.”

“It is. But people come by the thousands to do it. Have since the old days.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

She finished her tray, and Brother Ronan took it, wishing her a good day on his way out. She forced herself to wait to a count of fifty before opening her bag, where she found the rusted chains lying, unharmed. After she’d resealed the sack and warded the door for good measure, she slept again. Her dreams were strange and troublesome, but she could not remember them when she awoke later that afternoon. 

Gathering her wand, she went down the hall in search of the loo, taking advantage of the communal showers when she found it. She managed to heal the scrapes on her feet with a few quick spells, and the hot water did wonders for the aches in her muscles. A quick Scourgify made her clothes once again fit for company, and she padded back to her room, refreshed. 

Her fingers itched for a cigarette, but she decided she would rather find Dante before indulging in a smoke. After pulling on her boots, she gathered her things from the desk, made her bed, and left a generous tithe in Irish pounds on top of the pillow. The empty dormitory was as simple as her room had been, decorated with candles, crucifixes, and saints painted in the Celtic style. When she reached the cellar, she cast another _revelio_ , which illuminated a door at the end of the hall in a faint blue light. She knew better than to startle Dante when he was sleeping, and she let her feet fall heavily on the floor as she approached. When she reached the door she rapped on it sharply.

“Come in,” came Dante’s voice from within.

The windowless cell was in total darkness, though she could feel Dante’s eyes on her. He flicked on the desk lamp in deference to her mortal vision as she closed the door. An empty bottle and a bloodstained cup sat on the desk near the lamp. Dante was lounging on the bed like a lazy cat, apparently none the worse for wear after their mishap. His clothes and person were clean, and the burn marks on his hands were gone. He rose as she came into the room, putting his hands on her shoulders when they met.

“You are well?” he asked earnestly. “When the hell-mouth overwhelmed you I feared you would be more permanently injured.

“I feel alright,” she replied, shivering at his touch. “A little sore, but alright. What happened?”

He was running the fingers of one hand up the side of her neck, and his eyes were turning black with vampiric lust. “You didn’t expect the chains to go without a struggle did you? Generally hell-mouths dislike being robbed.”

“That’s why they pay me the big money.”

“I’ve always admired your durability.”

His hand tightened on the back of her head, and he crashed his cold lips into hers. She returned his kiss with guilty fury, her body thrilling with the way that his lips turned from ice to fire as they absorbed her warmth. The tingling chill from his touch crept over her skin, causing her to tremble, and she clung to his shirt as he seared a trail of savage kisses down to her neck, where her pulse was beating wildly. 

“Does your offer of a drink still stand, _Bellissima_?” he purred.

“Yes,” she gasped before she could think better of it.

There was a pair of sharp pricks, and then a heady rush of ecstasy as he drank from her. It was as intoxicating as she remembered it—but even as her body sang with pleasure, it was Severus’s name on the tip of her tongue, Severus’s arms she wanted to be holding her, Severus’s lips she craved on her skin.

Dante, ever the gentleman, brought her down gently, ending the vampiric kiss and healing the wounds on her throat with his agile tongue. Her mental protections were useless against _Legilimency_ of the blood, and she had no doubt that the vampire was well aware of the man whose name was lodged in her heart. He guided her to sit on the bed, and rummaged in her knapsack until he procured a bottle of Blood Replenisher, the contents of which he tipped into her mouth. She nearly choked at the taste of the elderflower and lemon—Severus had created this variant of the potion to suit her personally, and his care for her was yet another lash of guilt. 

When she’d gotten it down, she sagged against the wall, wishing she could cry that she might gain some relief from the feelings balled up in her chest. Dante pulled out a pair of cigarettes for the two of them, lighting them with the touch of an elegant finger.

“Perhaps it is time for you to tell me about Severus,” he said wryly after they’d both taken a bracing drag.

She let out a dry laugh. “What can I say? He’s an ass. He’s good at chess, potions, and dark magic. He likes to read and has a voice like sin.”

“No wonder you like him. What’s the problem then?”

“The problem is he’s sunk so deep in the war that’s coming that it’d take a miracle for him to come through it alive. I don’t think I can stand to lose someone like that. Not after David and Isaac.”

“The war is already here. Why don’t you convince him to run?”

She shook her head. “No. I think leaving would kill him, or at least his spirit. He has to see this thing through to the end.”

“That’s a shame. You might have wished for a more sensible partner.”

“I might have wished for a lot of things. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. “No, _Topolina_. No apologies are necessary between us. _Allora_ , I was telling you about Louis.”

She was grateful for the change of subject. “Yes. Please finish the story.”

“Louis came to a bitter end,” he said, a sad smile spreading over his shapely lips. “His enemies in the Burgundian court sent assassins after him, attacking him in the middle of the street one November night. Valentina never recovered. She died of a broken heart not a year afterwards. Herbelin and I stayed with young Charles, intent on helping the boy regain some order and beauty in his court. And we were successful, for a time, until a fever took my Herbelin from me.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Life was bitter to me then, but I feared death too much to seek it from my own hands. And as Charles started to play at war, I believed that my time would come soon enough. I thought that it had after the battle at Agincourt. But there are scavengers on a battlefield, and one of them found me.”

“Was he the one who made you a vampire?”

“Yes, but not, I think, on purpose. As he drained me, I latched onto his wrist, biting him in my frenzy. He left me for dead, but enough of his blood had entered my veins for me to rise again.”

“Fuck. What did you do?”

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Just what you’d expect. I wandered the countryside in a rage until I found my way to Nicolas’s door. I might have killed him, and Perenelle too. But he tucked a bunch of mistletoe behind my ear, and it brought me back to my senses long enough for him to take me to _Madama_ Bonne.”

“I wish he’d led you to a better Mistress.”

He shrugged. “There are worse, believe me.”

There was a light knocking at the door, and Miranda and Dante vanished their cigarettes before opening it to admit Brother Ronan. If the friar was at all surprised to find them together, he did not show it, for which Miranda was grateful.

“The sun’s down,” Brother Ronan said briskly as he handed each of them a dark bottle. “Best if we get the both of you on your way before anyone starts asking questions.”

“Thank you for your help,” Miranda replied. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything, lass. But if you’ll remember me in your prayers now and then I’d be grateful to you.”

“That I can promise you.”

He led them through a winding hallway that opened at last near the shore. The wind was quiet tonight, and the lake was like a mirror of black glass. Miranda pulled the _Molly_ _Brown_ from her pocket and murmured the spell to make her seaworthy. Brother Ronan whistled appreciatively.

“That’s a nice bit of magic,” the friar said.

“I’m fond of it myself,” Miranda replied.

“And if I never saw a boat again, it would be too soon,” Dante laughed.

Brother Ronan held the boat steady while the witch and the vampire climbed into it. When they were ready, he gave it a firm push, and his sandaled feet splashed into the lake as the boat began to cut through dark waters.

“God bless you both!” he called, giving them a final wave before turning and hurrying back towards the church and his brothers.

“As if I didn’t feel guilty enough,” Miranda sighed. 

“You must learn to overcome such frailty,” Dante chided, opening his bottle and drinking deeply of its contents.

“You’re probably right.”

Miranda tugged the cork from her bottle and gulped down the cold water inside, parched from the effects of the Blood Replenisher. They were quiet for a time as the _Molly_ _Brown_ made quick progress over the calm lake. Every inch away from Station Island was bringing her home to the problems she’d left behind, and she felt no closer to solving them.

“Did you ever love anyone after Herbelin?” she asked suddenly.

The vampire gazed up at the clear, star-filled sky. “Oh. Many times, _Topolina_. Some I have left. Some have left me. Some I have laid in the grave.”

“But how can you stand it? Or does it stop hurting after the tenth or the twentieth or the hundredth time?”

He took her hands and his, and the expression on his face made her wonder if he knew her heart better than she did herself.

“It always hurts,” he said. “Every time.”

“But is it worth it?” she persisted.

His dark eyes were wise in his youthful face, and they sparked with a mirth that all his centuries of loss could not dim

“Yes,” he replied. “Every time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Station Island is the location of St Patrick’s Purgatory, which has been a pilgrimage site from the middle ages. It is also supposedly and entrance to Purgatory or Hell, depending on the legend. The pilgrimage is as grueling as Brother Ronan describes, and continues to this day. It is performed barefoot, which is why I have the magic of the place prompting Miranda to take of her boots and socks in this chapter.
> 
> The adventure of the One Wood Church and the Spirit of the Mine is told in chapter 24 of Moonlight: The Tale of the Three Miners.
> 
> Dante is telling Miranda the brief history of Louis, duc d’Orléans (1372-1407) , and his wife Valentine of Milan (1371-1408). Their son Charles, duc d’Orléans (1394-1465) is the author of the Valentine’s Day poem that Severus was musing over back in chapter seven.
> 
> Matins is one of the hours of prayer, traditionally said in the middle of the night. It’s the longest of the hours.
> 
> Figlio di puttana: Son of a bitch (Dante is cursing at the light, not Miranda)  
> Cazzo: Fuck  
> Ho un debole per te: I’m weak for you  
> Va bene: Good, okay, alright  
> Andiamo: Let’s go  
> Bellissima: Gorgeous  
> Allora: So, then, well


	10. suspension d'incrédulité

Octavius Pepper lived in a tumbledown brick house a few miles outside of Hogsmeade that had long since lost its first bloom of youth. Miranda’s boots squelched over the muddy path leading to its front door, knapsack slung over one shoulder and an umbrella in her opposite hand in deference to the early spring downpour. The house was guarded by a thicket of thorny bushes, and as she approached, a branch lashed out at her like a snake striking. She hexed it neatly back into place, but it came around for another go. This time she hexed it with more force and less panache. The bush quivered indignantly, but allowed her to pass without further molestation.

“Nice to meet you too,” she said as she climbed the crumbling steps to rap on the sagging front door.

She slid her wand back into her sleeve while she waited for her client to let her in out of the rain, warily eyeing the twitching thorn bushes. The door squeaked open, revealing Mr Pepper in his shirt sleeves, his wiry hair still unkempt, and a quill tucked behind one ear. He peered at her through his spectacles, studying her like a potions specimen. 

“It’s awfully wet out here, Mr Pepper,” she prompted when he continued to stare. “I don’t suppose I might come in.”

He blinked and his fingers twitched nervously. “Yes. Do.”

Although he did step out of her way, he refused to open the door any wider, and she had to close her umbrella while still standing in the rain. She was quite drenched by the time she squeezed past him into the bare entry hall, and she was more than a little surprised to find the roof watertight. Octavius was still eyeing her as though she were a three-eyed newt, which sparked her temper. 

“Will it bother you if I dry off, Mr Pepper?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice mild.

“What was that?” he said distractedly. “Do as you must.”

She waved her wand and muttered an incantation to remove the mud from her boots and wring the water from her clothes. Before she was finished, Octavius had curtly ordered her to follow him, and was leading her through the dimly lit hall to a room at the back of the house. The interior walls were cracked and hung at erratic intervals with strange paraphernalia. A unicorn’s skull covered in cobwebs over a broken mirror, a tarnished tangle of serpents beneath a window, and a taxidermic Augurey with coins where its eyes ought to have been above a darkened doorway stood out to her from the collection of curiosities. 

After the grim disrepair of the rest of the house, the room they entered was a welcome surprise. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace and a well-loved, but sturdy, armchair sat before it. There was a large desk covered with parchments, quills, ink bottles, and other sundries. Several windows of sparkling glass would have let in the afternoon sunlight had the day been fine. Every wall that was not covered by a window bore a bookshelf with a tempting array of tomes. Gleaming metal automata floated just below a ceiling that displayed a slowly rotating celestial map. It was the perfect room to while away a gloomy day.

Octavius waved his wand nervously over a small table near the fire, sending books and papers flying back to their places around the room. Miranda had to duck as one book skidded perilously close to her head. 

“You have them?” he asked, his fingers plucking at a stray thread on the back of the armchair.

She schooled her features, wondering what had happened to the long-winded but benevolent wizard she’d met with before. Octavius had seemed rather odd to her from the start, but his jumpy behavior was making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Yes. And happily for your pocketbook it was no more trouble than I’d anticipated,” she said as she hauled the heavy, rusted chains out of her bag and coiled them on the table, letting the three heavy balls attached to the end rest on top.

His eyes dilated behind his thick glasses, and he stared at the chains for so long that she thought he’d forgotten she was there. She cleared her throat with deliberate politeness in the hopes of prompting him to complete the transaction without any unpleasant bickering.

“Hmmm? Of course, your payment.” He pulled a pouch off the mantelpiece and handed it to her, never taking his eyes off the chains.

She flipped the pouch open and gave it a cursory glance. Pleased to find her actual fee enclosed, she slid it into her knapsack, and swung the whole thing over her shoulder again. Octavius held his hand over the chains, like one mesmerized, but did not touch them. Then his brow creased and his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What have you done to them?” he demanded.

“I didn’t do anything to them,” she replied.

“They’ve been touched. By the Undead.”

How did he know that? “I had help. But I’ve already paid my associate. It needn’t concern you.”

“It concerns me deeply. Was it a vampire touched them?”

She let the tip of her wind slide out of her sleeve, but kept her voice light and easy. “I don’t see how that’s relevant, but yes.”

His lips curved into a haughty smile. “Foolish girl, why would you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We shall have to deal with this problem.” His eyes were darting back and forth and he was obviously speaking to himself rather than to his guest. “It is a bad business, but there is nothing else to be done.”

“What are you talking…ah!”

In the space of time it took Miranda to blink, Octavius grabbed her hand and hauled her bodily over to the table holding the chains. As she swung her wand around and jammed the tip of it under his chin, he ran a sharp thumbnail over her wrist. Several drops of her blood fell onto the chains, which took on a greenish glow before fading back to dull rust. 

“What the fuck did you just do?” she demanded as Octavius released her hand.

“I cleansed the chains that you allowed to be tarnished.” he replied, apparently unconcerned that she was ready to blow him to kingdom come. “Name your fee for the extra work this morning.”

“I don’t generally sell my blood,” she snapped, furious with Octavius’s actions and with the fact that she couldn’t get a read on how much of a threat he was. Outwardly he seemed almost frail, but there was a coldness emanating from him that she usually only felt from hardened killers.

“You’re unwell, aren’t you Miss Rose,” he said.

“I’m well enough to take care of myself.”

“I’ve no intention of disproving that at the moment. But perhaps I might be of some assistance to you.”

He grasped the chain with one hand, and laid his other over the hand she was using to hold her wand to his throat. A deep, dizzying magic washed through her insides, rolling through her like a thunderous wave. She gasped involuntarily, riding the high with a feeling of giddiness. It seeped out of her slowly, and when it was gone Octavius released her. She paced away from him, her wand dangling from one hand, forgotten, and her other hand on her flushed cheek. Her own magic was pricking her from head to toe, and she knew without casting a spell that it was whole and complete in a way it hadn’t been since her journey to the land of the Iele months before.

“I trust you find that satisfactory,” Octavius said, his back already turned to her as he examined his prize.

She knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. “That’ll do just fine. Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Pepper.”

“Likewise, Miss Rose. Do see yourself out.”

She kept her pace unhurried as she retreated from his library, trusting that his obsession with the chains and his studies would keep him from troubling her further. The thorn bushes attacked her again on her way past them, and she swatted them none too gently with her umbrella. They hissed at her, but withdrew, and she very nearly skipped down the path as her magic pulsed through her. 

“ _Impervious_ ,” she murmured.

She felt her magic pricking through her skin, forming a water-tight shield around her that the raindrops bounced off. Laughing, she twirled her umbrella around her finger, shrank it to the size of a candy-cane, and stuffed it into her bag. As she fairly floated to the edge of Mr Pepper’s oppressive wards, his strange behavior slipped from her mind, and she spun like a gleeful child as she passed through them before apparating away.

*****

The lamps lining the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley were flickering to life as the sun set on a day that could not claim to have truly seen its face. The rain had dwindled into a gloomy fog that blurred the people and the storefronts into an impressionistic haze as the Alley sluggishly switched from day to night. Miranda, still flushed with the unexpected bonus from her work for Mr Pepper, emerged from Dosas restaurant with a packet of piping hot samosas and cup of steaming chai. With the food warming her stomach, and her magic thrumming through her veins, she was as eager to share her good fortune with Aaron as she was to tangle with any sort of trouble they might meet on patrol tonight. She found the lanky American loitering at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley, leaning against a lamppost and smoking a cigarette.

“Thoughtful of you to bring dinner,” he said as he plucked one of the samosas from her packet.

“I know how you feel about working on an empty stomach,” she replied, glad that she’d remembered to order the larger version of the dish.

Aaron’s eyes closed with pleasure as he tasted the savory delicacy. “Mmm. Perfection. I oughta bring Rachel and the baby down here on Sunday.”

“Yes, you should. Have I missed anything?”

“Nah. It’ll be a dull night. I can feel it in my bones.”

They started down Knockturn Alley as they worked their way through the samosas. The decaying Edwardian edifices loomed overhead, their windows watching the intruders like so many wary eyes. The fog was thicker here, as though the dark magic that held the place in thrall had forced it from the nooks and crannies between the buildings to huddle in the narrow street. There was a faint whispering in the wind that stirred the soupy haze, sharing secrets that Miranda could not quite make out. Though her skin pricked her with the warning that she was being watched, she shrugged off the feeling. She and Aaron were there to be seen.

As they came to the end of the Alley, they crossed the cracked stone street to loop back up the other side of the block. Anticipation hung over the shadowy shops as thick as the weather outside, and Miranda had the distinct impression that more than one patron was lingering just inside the doorways, waiting for the Aurors to depart. She stuffed the empty samosa packet into her chai cup and threw it into an overflowing dustbin as they passed the infamous oracle, Delphi’s Doom. When her hands were free, she let her wand slide part way out of her sleeve.

The door to Borgin and Burkes scraped open ahead of them, its bell sending a mournful clang through the Alley. Mr Borgin appeared, escorting a witch dressed in smartly tailored robes. Aaron straightened as the woman’s white-blond hair came into focus through the fog, and strode ahead of Miranda to meet her.

“Good evenin’ Narcissa. Evenin’ Orestes,” Aaron called as he approached. “Heck of a stretch of weather we’ve had.”

Mr Borgin quickly smoothed his frown into a more neutral expression, though Miranda thought he looked terribly worn out. Narcissa was polished as always, but the dark circles under her eyes cast a haunted pallor over her patrician features.

“Auror Lee, a pleasure to see you,” Orestes said stiffly.

“Aaron, how are Rachel and Maggie?” asked Narcissa with a pinched smile.

“They’re fine. Maggie’s been sleeping longer most nights, so Rachel and I feel like actual human beings again,” Aaron replied. “How’s business, Orestes?”

Orestes looked like he was trying to swallow a lemon. “Booming.”

“Glad to hear it,” Aaron said with a lazy smirk.

“I must ask you to excuse me,” Orestes said, casting a suspicious glance in Miranda’s direction. “Good night, Mrs Malfoy.”

“Good night, Mr Borgin,” Narcissa replied. “And thank you.”

Mr Borgin disappeared into his shop, and the heavy curtains came down after him, obscuring the interior from view. Narcissa started back towards Diagon Alley, and though her lips were pursed, she did not object when Aaron and Miranda fell in beside her.

“Miss Rose, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” Narcissa said. “I trust you are enjoying your stay in England?”

“It’s been educational,” Miranda replied, deciding now was not the time to needle the other witch about her family’s misfortunes. “Thank you for asking.”

“How’s that Draco?” Aaron asked smoothly. “I know I was a handful at that age.”

“He is a...handful as you say,” Narcissa said.

“Well I hope he doesn’t put you through half the nonsense I put my Mother through.”

Narcissa let out a hollow laugh. “No. I don’t think he will. Would you be so good as to tell Rachel that I am thinking of coming for tea in the next week or two?”

“I will. She’ll be happy to see you,” Aaron said.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more specific with the date, but I will send an owl before I come.”

“Don’t you worry, I know how it goes. You just come on over whenever you get the time.”

She gave Aaron the ghost of a real smile. “Thank you. Good night, Aaron. Miss Rose.”

“Good night, Mrs Malfoy,” Miranda said.

“Night, Narcissa. Keep your chin up,” Aaron added.

Narcissa took a few steps away from them before disappearing with a demure pop. Miranda started back across the street to make a final loop of Knockturn Alley before noticing that Aaron hadn’t followed her.

“Are you coming?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in question.

Aaron was staring thoughtfully at the empty space where Narcissa had disappeared. “What? Yeah, I’m comin’.”

He trotted to catch up to his partner. If anything, Knockturn Alley seemed even less hospitable as the full dark of night descended on it.

“Things are tense with the Malfoys I take it,” Miranda commented as they headed back down the Alley.

“That’s an understatement. It’s a cryin’ shame a lady like Narcissa got tangled up with the likes of Lucius Malfoy,” Aaron replied, shoving his hands in his pockets as his eyes scanned the street as though eager for trouble.

Miranda shrugged. “I can’t say I don’t feel sorry for her. But I wouldn’t go so far as to assume she’s completely innocent. Don’t let those wide eyes and that angelic face go to your head, Aaron. Or have you forgotten Lavinia Starling?”

“Ouch! You sure know how to cut a fella to the quick,” he said with a sheepish grin.

Knockturn Alley seemed to sigh with relief as the Americans finally left it to its own devices and turned onto the gentrifying splendor of Phyne Alley. Metal and glass sculpted into the shapes of creatures both legendary and cryptid had been soldered onto the tired Victorian townhouses. The doors to the shops selling niche fashion, No-Maj music, and the latest magical innovations were open wide to the night as a steady stream of young witches and wizards flowed in and out of them. There was an air of apocalyptic celebration clinging to the place, as of a people grimly determined to enjoy the moment, knowing that tomorrow was unlikely to arrive with the consequences.

“Robert won’t shut up about getting his hands on Severus,” Aaron said as they threaded through the crowded sidewalk.

“I’m not setting anything up for him, and if you value your hide, you’d better do the same,” Miranda replied, doing her best to ignore the way the mention of Severus’s name made her guilty heart sink.

“You think I don’t know that? Trouble is, Robert’s stubborn as a mule when he gets some fancy in his head. It’d be a helluva lot more comfortable for everyone if you’d just sweet talk your professor into one piddly dinner. Iffen you ever make up with him, that is.”

Miranda turned a glare on Aaron, who raised his eyebrows back at her in mock innocence. 

“Rachel told you?” she demanded.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Well, we _are_ married, last I checked. She’s worried about you. Did you ever talk to the fella?”

“Not yet.”

“You do whatever you gotta do, but for fuck’s sake, put him out of his misery. He ain’t a mind reader.”

“Actually, he is.”

“You know what I meant.”

She shouldered through the crowd congregating in front of The Mortal Coil (a neighborhood joint that refused to gussy up to fit in with the rest of the innovations on the street, although the owners took care to hire the hottest bands) with Aaron dogging her heels.

“I just got back from Ireland yesterday, and I haven’t seen Severus yet. I know it’s shitty of me, and I don’t need a lecture,” she snapped.

“Wasn’t gonna give you one,” Aaron protested.

“You could’ve fooled me.”

Aaron put a hand on her arm. “Listen, if you want me to hex him or help you hide a body, I’m here.”

Her anger started to cool. “Thanks. I think I can handle it.”

“I know you can. But you don’t have to do everything by your lonesome.”

She could feel the tension between them begin to evaporate as they continued up Phyne Alley towards Coffin, Candle, and Cross Alchemical.

“I think I’ve gotten better at asking for help,” she observed. “I even brought Dante Sanguini with me on the Ireland gig.”

Aaron’s eyes sparked with mirth. “Did you, now? That must’ve been a sight to see. You always did have a knack for twisting folks ‘round your little finger.” 

“And it comes in handy, I must say...Whoa there!”

A skinny boy came barreling out of the Alchemical shop and crashed straight into Miranda. She caught his arms as he started to dart away, lifting him easily off his feet. He repaid her by drumming her shins with his heels as he struggled to bite her, which she absorbed without a flinch. An enraged rag-doll of a clerk came rushing out after him, and the boy’s struggles to free himself ceased as his attention was engrossed with attempting to shove an enameled, rectangular box into his coat pocket before anyone else noticed.

“Thief! Give that back,” shouted the clerk, a vein in her forehead threatening to burst like a seam. 

“It’s mine!” the boy spit back.

“Hold on now,” said Aaron placidly, “What’s all this about thieving? Our friend here just made a little mistake, didn’t you?”

“I did not!” the boy growled.

“How much does he owe you?” Miranda asked.

The clerk eyed them speculatively. “Eight galleons.”

“I think we can handle that. Aaron?”

He whistled through his teeth, but dug the eight golden coins from his pocket and dropped them into the clerk’s hands. “Will that do?”

“Thank you, sir,” the clerk said, counting them swiftly before glancing up to give the boy an icy stare. “But I’d better not catch you in here again without your grandparents. You hear me Isahak Lal?”

The boy muttered darkly as the clerk retreated to her shop. Miranda set Isahak down on the sidewalk and released one of his arms. He tried to break her hold again, but gave up after a brief struggle, preferring to glare at her with his dark brown eyes. His fierceness was somewhat undermined by his fine features, which rendered his anger adorable rather than threatening. His brown skin was complemented by raven black hair that hung over a pair of ears just slightly too large for the rest of him; and his light frame bespoke his youth. Miranda guessed he was around her nephew Brendan’s age, and this, along with his apparent penchant for troublemaking, drew her to him immediately.

“Nice night for a walk, don’t you think?” Miranda asked as she and Aaron began strolling with their new charge.

“No,” Isahak said. “Who are you anyway?”

“I’m Miranda Rose, and this is my friend Aaron Lee. We’re Aurors of a sort.”

Isahak eyed them dubiously. “You aren’t from here, are you?”

“No,” Aaron replied. “We’re from the United States of America.”

Isahak snorted.

“Now that you know where we’re from, would you mind telling us where you live?” Miranda asked patiently.

“I’m not going home,” Isahak insisted.

“Nobody’s talking about that. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“I live in Diagon Alley. But Amma and Achen came from Thrissur,” Isahak said proudly.

“Amma and Achen?” Miranda asked.

The boy rolled his eyes. “It means Mother and Father. Are Americans all stupid?”

Miranda took this in stride. “Some people say we are.”

“Do you think Amma and Achen might be missing you right about now?” Aaron asked.

“No. They’re dead,” the boy replied.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Miranda said.

“What do you know about it?” Isahak spat, kicking at the ground with his trainer. “Are _your_ Amma and Achen dead?”

“No,” Miranda said, taking a steading breath. “But my brother and my son are.”

Isahak stopped walking and looked up at her with solemn eyes. She returned his gaze evenly, and took the risk of letting go of his arm.

“I’m sorry for you,” Isahak said at last. “Thank you for buying the box. I will pay you back.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Call it a present from one broken heart to another.”

The cobblestone streets of Phyne Alley turned into mossy paths as it met Gog Park. The music pounding out of The Mortal Coil twisted into a dark reflection of itself as they left the Alley behind. Groves of barren fruit trees sheltered the park from the outside world, as the fairy lights floating above the grounds made dancing shadows over the empty benches and sleeping flowerbeds. The swings in the play park sighed forlornly as the wind sent them swinging back and forth, and Miranda caught Isahak eyeing them with wistful interest.

“I like this park,” Aaron remarked as they strolled up the path.

“Me too,” Isahak replied. “But Ammama and Appachan never have time to take me anymore. Appachan says his joints hurt when it is cold, and Ammama does not like the park because she says it’s too loud.”

“Ammama and Appachan?” Miranda asked.

“Ammama is Grandmother and Appachan is Grandfather,” Isahak explained loftily.

“That’s a shame. Gog Park is a great place to go broom flying if you like that sort of thing. The charms go all the way up past the treeline so the No-Majs don’t see,” Miranda said.

“No-Maj?” Isahak asked.

“It’s how American’s say Muggle,” Miranda said.

“Oh.”

“I’ve got a little tyke myself,” Aaron put in. “She loves this park too, especially that singing mushroom patch over yonder. She’s only a baby, though. Probably not interesting to a big kid like yourself.”

“I like babies,” Isahak countered. “When Mrs Anita and Mr Dexter come to work at Dosas, they bring their baby Honor with them. I help Auntie Jeanette watch her after my school work is done.”

“That’s right nice of you,” Aaron said. “Iffen you don’t skip down, maybe sometime we could all meet up at the park and I’ll introduce you to my girl. Her name’s Magdalene, but most folks call her Maggie.”

Isahak folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t think Ammama would bring me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Miranda said gently. “But since you’re running away, it’s a moot point.”

“Where are you headed, if you don’t mind my asking?” Aaron asked.

“I’m...not really sure,” Isahak admitted.

“Ah,” Miranda said.

Isahak glared up at her. “What I mean is, I’m going to Thrissur. Only I’m not sure how to get there yet. I’ll need a wand and a portkey and I haven’t got those things.”

“That’s not a bad plan for starters,” Aaron said. “You could let it rattle around for a while and see...what the Sam Hill!”

A snarl of tattered cloaks and gnarled fingers descended from the sky, blotting out the few stars bright enough to shine through the city lights. The air became painfully cold, as though they’d jumped into an icy river. Aaron grabbed Isahak while Miranda drew her wand as the Dementors hovered around them in a spectral ring of death. The creatures slowly tightened the circle, and Miranda blocked out Isahak’s frightened gasp as she quickly conjured up thoughts of spring.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” she shouted.

It had never been so easy. Her magic exploded from the core of her being, sizzling up her arm and out her wand to produce the largest and brightest bobcat she’d ever created. The cat pounced from Dementor to Dementor, tearing at their cloaks and snapping at their skeletal limbs. Before Aaron had the chance to summon his own Patronus, the creatures were retreating back into the sky, in search of easier prey. The bobcat circled the humans thrice before retreating into the darkness. It was so solid that Miranda wondered how long it would take to dissipate. 

“Wow,” Isahak breathed.

“Looks like you’re back, my friend,” Aaron observed.

“I think so,” Miranda replied, giddy with triumph. “You know, Isahak, if you do decide not to run away just yet, maybe some Sunday we could go flying in the park together. If you were to come and get tired of playing with Maggie, I mean.”

Isahak’s brow furrowed. “When Achen was alive, sometimes Uncle Florian would walk with us in the park on Sundays. Maybe he would take me if I asked.”

“Sounds promising,” Aaron said.

Isahak looked up at the mist covered sky for a long moment, his little face screwed up in thought. 

“I think that I will go home and work on my plan. I will run away later, when I am ready,” he said at last.

“That’s a fine idea,” Miranda replied. “Maybe Aaron and I could walk you home and see if we can help you sneak back in. What do you say?”

“I would say you’re pretty smart,” Isahak said as they started back towards the Alleys. “For a grown up.”

*****

The instant the door to Severus’s sitting room creaked open, he was wide awake and leaping up from his armchair with his wand in hand. The book he’d been reading before he’d nodded off thudded to the floor as he landed in a low, defensive stance. He extinguished the light from the embers in the fireplace and the low-burning candles with an instinctive flick of his wand, plunging himself and the intruder into total darkness.

“It’s only me,” said Miranda’s voice. “I’m sorry I startled you. I should have been louder about coming in.”

His racing heart stumbled at the sound of her voice, then resumed its pounding as his mouth went suddenly dry. “Indeed.”

“I sent you a message, when I got off shift, but I guess you missed it.”

“I was asleep.” Not that it mattered. He’d shoved the cigarette case in the back of his desk drawer in a fit of frustration at the way he’d constantly checked it for a message that never came.

“Sorry about that. I can go if you like.”

“No. Stay.” _Breathe, Severus. Control yourself_.

He left them in darkness for the space of a few measured breaths, attempting to bring at least his features under his command. When he felt his impassive mask was in place, he waved his wand to relight the fire and the candles. Miranda’s face was rosy with the full bloom of health that he’d not seen there since her return from Romania months ago. The sight crushed his heart with a tangle of conflicting emotions, and he swallowed hard to bury them.

“You look very well,” he said flatly.

“I feel well,” she replied. “Better than I have since the Iele.”

“I trust your Ireland excursion went as you had hoped.”

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. “It did.”

Her blush raised his curiosity, but he refrained from interrogating her. “My felicitations.”

The awkward silence discomposed her enough that she began pacing in front of his fireplace, tracing patterns of sparkling light in the air with her nervous fingers. The countless hours he’d spent standing in the Dark Lord’s antechamber served him well now. He slid his wand back into his sleeve and adopted the formal, indifferent posture he’d been perfecting since his adolescence. The miniature astronomical clock Miranda had given him on his birthday ticked by the agonizing seconds as he waited for her to speak. Excruciating as the anticipation was, he could not bring himself to hasten the _coup de grâce_ by asking the fatal question.

“Severus, do you love me?” she blurted suddenly, flushing to the roots of her hair as she turned to face him.

He blinked. “You expect me to answer that question now?”

“Honestly, no.” She let out a bitter laugh and resumed her agitated pacing. “But this is what I’m talking about.”

“I’m afraid I fail to follow your oblique reasoning.”

“We don’t talk about anything.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “I disagree. I talk more to you than I do to any other person of my acquaintance.”

“I believe that. What I’m trying to say is that we don’t discuss anything important.”

“Blake’s place in the literary canon is extremely important.”

Her hands flexed in frustration. “Stop playing stupid. We’ve both got a bunch of shit buried fathoms deep--our feelings, our pasts--and we don’t talk about any of it.”

“I had thought shit, as you phrase it, was better left buried.”

“I don’t blame you,” she continued with a sad smile. “I don’t want to talk about it either. But I feel like we’re tearing each other to pieces trying to keep everything hidden, and it’s just not going to work anymore.”

His fingers ached to touch her. Though it felt like the march to receive the Dementor’s kiss, he intercepted her pacing and put his hands on her shoulders. He turned her to look at him, prepared to meet his doom with his eyes open.

“Yes,” he said solemnly. 

Her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

He could feel himself glaring at her, but there was nothing to be done about it. “Yes. I love you.”

“Oh. Well. I had thought that was the case.”

Brilliant. “Then I don’t see why you required me to confirm it.”

“Suspecting a thing and hearing it spoken are two different experiences.”

His patience spent, he was unable to balance on the blade of her indecision for another instant. 

“Would you kindly complete the task of ending our relationship that I might go to bed? I have apparition lessons to oversee in the morning."

“I could do that,” she said, looking up at him with laughing eyes. “But I love you, too.”

The world tilted. “You what?”

She actually did laugh then. “I said, I love you, too.”

He let go of her shoulders and backed away, as though the distance would help him regain his balance. “I...was not aware of that.”

“I’m not surprised. I’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it.”

This confession did not amuse him. “Naturally. Why bother telling me now?”

“If for nothing else, to see the expression on your face. You look like you’ve been punched in the gut.”

He rather felt that way too. “This has all been a grand joke to you, hasn’t it?” he snarled.

She clapped her hand over her mouth, a guilty expression on her face, and she turned away from him to stare into the tongues of fire leaping in the fireplace. 

“You’ve never been a joke to me, and I’m sorry for making you feel like one. I know I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length, metaphorically speaking, almost since the beginning.”

“While I am aware that most people prefer to keep me at arm’s length, literally speaking, is there a particular grievance that has caused you to do so?”

She hesitantly crossed the room to him, and took his hands in hers, raising one to her lips to kiss. The warmth from her hands and her lips crept slowly up his arms, like a poison, to his bitter heart.

“I thought if I refused to admit what I felt, it might protect me from the pain of losing you,” she said.

He could not resist stroking her cheek with his fingers, nor delighting in the way she leaned into his touch. “Miranda, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Maybe not on purpose. But this damned war has its teeth in you, and it’s not letting go any time soon.”

The irony of her discomfort with his precarious position was not lost on him. “Says the woman who cavorts with werewolves, vampires, and fiends for sport.”

“I know my line of work isn’t the safest, but at the end of the day, it’s only money. I can walk away from money, no questions asked. You’re in it for blood.”

He kissed her forehead and let out a shuddering breath. “If you are asking me to abandon the task I’ve been set, I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I will see it to completion.” Or die trying.

“For Lily?” she asked.

Her question lacked any tone of accusation or jealousy, for which he was more grateful than he could express. 

“And for myself,” he replied, as though realizing it for the first time.

“I understand. And I want you to know that you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you, if you’ll let me.”

The feeling of loving Miranda, apparently unrequited, that he’d endured up to this moment was completely overshadowed by the overwhelming emotion of having that love returned. Melancholy as the former experience had been, it had been one unfortunately familiar to him. He hardly dared trust this reversal of his fortunes--it was so new and strange.

A rack of potions sat on the shelf over his desk, next to a bright red poppy flower that seemed to be nodding to him with encouragement. He stepped away from Miranda to retrieve a vial of midnight blue. As he clasped it in his hand, its cool weight gave him the reassurance he required to go forth into this uncharted land.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. “I think it is time I taught you to fly.”

*****

The crescent moon was a mere sliver in the black velvet of the clear night sky, accentuating the celestial beauty of her more distant sisters. Severus did not let go of Miranda’s hand as they walked over the damp earth together, and the students all appeared to be in bed for once. The lake lapped quietly at the shore, and an owl cried softly in the distance of the Forest beyond. The pair continued unmolested to a spot past the Quidditch pitch where they could work in the shadow of the ancient trees. 

“Is this it? The famous master potion?” she asked eagerly as he unstoppered the vial. 

“It is the latest version,” he replied, carefully adding a single drop of silvery mercury to the concoction with the tip of his wand. “I am afraid the taste will be...unpleasant.”

“If it means I can fly, I’ll deal with it.”

“I shall remind you of your boast when you complain of it.” He passed the vial into her waiting hand. “Drink it in one swallow. Then we begin.”

She pinched her nose and gulped it down, blanching as it hit her tongue. He chuckled softly at her reaction, and she might have swatted him in retaliation, but her hands began to shake violently.

“Now what?” she asked as her body vibrated with the effects of the potion.

“Give me your hands,” he ordered, holding his out to her, palms up.

“Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning?” she asked cheekily.

He caught hold of her trembling hands to steady her. “In a manner of speaking. Breathe deeply. With each breath, you will feel your body become less corporeal. Do not resist. Let it become like the clouds.”

Her breathing was somewhat undermined by her giggling--extreme giddiness was one of the less malicious side effects of the potion--but her light-heartedness seemed to aid rather than hinder her progress. Within a matter of moments, her limbs had transformed into a dark mist, and she began to rise off the ground.

“Well done, Miranda. Exactly so,” Severus said. 

“It’s so simple,” she laughed. “Why didn’t I ever think to do it before?”

“I suspect you did, but the assumption that humans cannot fly unaided hindered you from making the attempt.”

“Hence the _suspension d’incrédulité_?”

“Hence the _suspension d’incrédulité_.”

He let his mind go wonderfully blank, and his body quickly blurred into a black cloud. Miranda was slowly but surely drifting upwards towards the top of the trees, and he was careful to keep hold of her hands as they rose. Although he did not expect her to lose her nerve, he wanted to be able to check her fall if her doubts overcame the potion. As the night sky wrapped around them, she let go of one of his hands, stretching out as though she might gather a star or two from the heavens.

“Don’t look down if you think it will trouble you,” he warned, although in truth he was more than pleased at how easily she took to the air.

“No, I think it will help me believe this is really happening.” She glanced down to see that they were well above the trees, her hand tightening in his. “Fuck, this is phenominal. Have I mentioned that I love you?”

“You have, but I doubt I will tire of hearing it.”

They floated over the pitch towards the castle, gaining speed and altitude as they approached the turrets of Ravenclaw tower. Like any terrestrial creature, Miranda gained confidence the nearer they came to this physical boundary. There was something unnerving about finding oneself alone in the whole expanse of the sky, and he knew it would take several more flights before his protégé became accustomed to the sensation. As they swirled up the side of the castle, the misty outline of her limbs tangled with his, sending a rush of pleasure through his translucent body. Her eyes locked to his, and the desire he saw there told him she too had felt the unexpected thrill. 

“Focus on your flying,” he warned, though he was sorely tempted to experiment with this facet of flight he’d been unaware of. “You must maintain your control.”

“Damn your control,” she replied, darting up to brush her lips against his. He felt her shiver as she began to solidify, and she pulled back quickly. “Shit, you weren’t kidding!”

“No, I was not. And if you defy me again, I’ll take you down and refuse to brew you the _suspension_ until doomsday, no matter how much you beg.”

She bit her lip and her limbs returned to their mist-like form. Now that the danger of falling had passed, she flew up the side of the tower, with him keeping easy pace at her side. When they were above the castle, she tested her agility, spiraling through the air like an acrobat. After a moment’s observation, he joined her in her play, rolling through a low lying cloud. Icy droplets of water passed over and through him, washing away all the cares that kept him chained to the earth. It had been ages since he’d flown with no urgent purpose at hand, and the act blessed his mind with a rare sense of clarity and peace.

Eventually she began to tire, and he led her down to a long-necked gargoyle perched on the astronomy tower. As they landed, their bodies became solid and heavy once more. He sat down with his back against the roof of the tower, and she sat in front of him, leaning against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“That was fantastic. Thank you,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent. “I ought to have taken you sooner. I’d forgotten how restorative a flight can be.”

“I’m not sure it would have worked before now. But I hope you made more of that potion. I want to do this again as soon as humanly possible.”

“You will have to limit yourself to three or four doses of _suspension_ per week to avoid a potentially fatal build up in your system. However, I expect it will not be long before you are able to fly without it.”

“I think I can live with that.”

A hallowed silence descended on them as they rested together, watching the stars roving the ancient course. The imps of all the toils and snares that were waiting for them when they returned to earth prowled in the periphery of Severus’s consciousness. He swept them all to the back of his mind to wait for another day.

The poet who’d coined the phrase that had inspired Severus’s master potion had once spoken of “the willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.” Severus wasn’t sure that he had faith--poetic or otherwise--in much of anything. But as Miranda turned over her shoulder to kiss him with an aching sweetness--

Merlin help him, he had that faith in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far in my epic tale! I am hard at work finishing the draft of this book, and I expect to begin updating again in April of 2021. Thank you sticking with me--and stay safe out there <3
> 
> The Coffin, Candle, and Cross Alchemical was named for an English fairy tale, The Buried Moon.
> 
> Second star to the right... is a reference to Peter Pan
> 
> The poet Severus refers to is Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who coined the phrase "suspension of disbelief."


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